


Beyond the Call of Duty and Family

by Welfycat



Series: Live with the Wolves and You Learn to Howl [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, Sheriff Stilinski POV, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welfycat/pseuds/Welfycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sheriff Stilinski learns about his son's double life as a human member of the local werewolf pack, he also learns that families are made when they're least expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content Notes: Mourning of character death that occurred prior to show/story. Allusions to child abuse. Mildly graphic medical scene (includes blood). Canon typical violence.  
> Author Notes: Diverges from canon following 2.09.

It had been five minutes since his son had told him that werewolves existed and Scott had flashed his fangs, claws, and brightly colored eyes, and the only thing he could think was that it explained an awful lot if it could possibly be true. He had always prided himself on accepting the evidence in front of him, following patterns that didn't make sense at first, pushing for answers even when he wanted to pull back out of self-preservation. Scott, now looking as human as ever, sat with Stiles on the couch as they waited with poorly hidden apprehension for his response.

He took his hand away from where he'd been pressing it to his face and looked at Stiles. "Is it just Scott?" he asked, feeling a little guilty at the small part of him that was practically begging for his son not to have changed like that.

Stiles' lips quirked up in a small smile of relief. "I'm not a werewolf, dad, but about half of our pack is human."

"Pack?" he asked, feeling his stomach do that strange little flop it had done when Scott had given a low toothy growl. "How many?"

"Ten in our pack including me and Stiles, six werewolves and four humans," Scott said and then nudged Stiles with his elbow. "Stiles is our second in command and believe me, you do not want to know how that came about."

He thought that Scott was probably right and he probably didn't want to know how his precocious and enthusiastic son had become tangled up in a werewolf pack. "How long has this been going on?" he asked, still wavering with incredulity. He still wanted one of the boys to laugh, to grin at each other, and for this whole thing to be an elaborate prank with bonus stage make-up - he'd _watched_ Scott's features change, but there could still be a rational explanation, somehow.

Stiles and Scott looked at each other, silent communication with eyebrows and glances, and Stiles looked a little sheepish when he turned back to face him. "A little over a thirteen months now. Scott was bitten in the woods right before school started our sophomore year. Kinda my fault, actually."

In the end it was the way that Scott shrugged and smiled fondly at Stiles that convinced him. He had watched the boys become close friends, practically joined at the hip, for nearly a decade now and he knew both what honesty and automatic forgiveness between them looked like. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, a strong feeling that he'd failed his son worse than he'd ever imagined pressing down on his chest. He had known that something was wrong for a long time now, at least eight months, but he'd never managed to get past Stiles' defenses to find out what it was.

"Scott, does your mom know?" he asked and grimaced when Scott shook his head and looked away. "Do any adults know?" he asked next, getting the uncomfortable feeling that the rest of their 'pack' were probably teenagers as well.

"Dr. Deaton, my boss does. He helps us when he can," Scott said quickly.

"And?" he asked, hoping that the town veterinarian wasn't their only source of help for the past thirteen months.

"Derek Hale, he's our Alpha," Stiles said. There was a pause and another silent communication with Scott in which Stiles' emphatic head tip was the deciding factor. "And Allison Argent's family, but they were kind of on the other side of things."

It was almost too much to process at once. "Other side? Derek Hale? How did this even happen?"

"We were in the woods that night Laura Hale's body was discovered and I was bitten by Peter Hale-" Scott began, speaking quickly like he was trying to rush through without getting into any details.

"Peter Hale, as in the unresponsive burn victim who disappeared from the long term care facility last December and was never seen again?" he asked, his eyes widening when Scott just nodded grimly. "I think you boys need to go through this with me a step at a time."

Scott and Stiles glanced at each other again and seem to come to an agreement. "So, it happened like this..."

*****

Three hours later and he had a massive headache and the strong desire to go find a bottle of whiskey so he could get the mental image of his son nearly dying a dozen times in the past year out of his mind. He could have lost his son and never have known why. It was a horrifying explanation that they gave, but one that made a good portion of his major cases in the last thirteen months make a lot more sense. He had a strong suspicion that they'd left out a lot, with glances and shakes of the head when one of them would pause in the middle of an event that started to get more and more terrifying just in telling.

"So, uh, dad," Stiles said, his hands moving in an anxious percussion against his knees. "Can I get you anything? Do you want us to give you some space?"

He wanted to ask why they didn't tell him sooner but he had a pretty good idea of why they hadn't. Already he can't imagine ever trying to explain it to anyone else. "What do you need?" he asked, knowing that more than anything else he wanted to be there for his son when he hadn't been allowed to be in so long.

Stiles and Scott turned to each other in, seeming surprised by his reaction. "We're good if you're good." Stiles said, relief coloring his voice. "I mean, if you're not forbidding me to be with the pack, we're really good."

He stood and motioned for Stiles to come over, not wasting any time before wrapping him into a tight hug and just holding him for a long moment.

Stiles relaxed into his grip after only a few seconds. "I'm sorry for lying. Every time. I hated it every single time," he whispered.

"I know," he said because he'd seen that pain and frustration in Stiles' face each time and hadn't known what to do with it. He released Stiles when he started to squirm and then motioned for Scott to stand up.

Scott did, hesitating before stepping closer. "You're not afraid of me?" he asked.

He shook his head and pulled Scott into a quicker but tight hug. "Scott, I bandaged your scraped hands and knees when you fell out of the tree in the backyard when you were eight. I've made you and Stiles' popcorn and hot cocoa and fixed the zipper on your sleeping bag when you've had sleepovers. How could I be afraid of you?"

Scott gave him an intensely grateful and slightly embarrassed smile in return.

"If you want someone there when you tell your mom, I'd be happy to come over," he said, not missing Scott's small cringe. "Because you are planning on telling her, right?"

"Maybe?" Scott asked, exchanging a pained look with Stiles when Stiles squeezed his shoulder.

"She should know, Scott. She'd feel a lot better knowing what was going on with you, just like I do," he said. He'd had more than one conversation with Melissa McCall about what was happening to their boys and why they couldn't seem to make any headway with either of them. The topic of werewolves had never come up.

"Your mom is cool," Stiles said, his arm slung over Scott's shoulder in the same way he'd stood with Scott for years and years. "She'll probably think your claws are awesome."

Scott smiled and ducked his head. "At least it will explain the gouges in the hallway floor."

"Just let me know if you want me, or if there's anything I can do," he said and he couldn't resist squeezing Stiles' arm one more time just for the reassurance that his son was alive and right beside him. He let the boys take off, their heads bent in quiet discussion, and then went to his office with the intention of pulling case files and making separate coded notes about what he now knew. There would be a lot to go over.

*****

It wasn't until a week later that he first saw the pack. He had come home early since he was unexpectedly going to be covering a night shift for his most senior deputy and paused inside the front door when he heard the murmur voices from his kitchen abruptly cut off. Curious more than anything else, he hung up his jacket and purposefully locked his gun in the safe before he walked toward the kitchen. Stiles and Scott had left out the identities of most of their packmates when they'd given their original explanation and he half expected for most of the group to have scattered by the time he rounded the corner.

There were nine people gathered in the kitchen and his original fear that the pack was comprised of teenagers - teenagers thrown into horrifying situations that even he hadn't encountered in his twenty-five years in the sheriff's department - was readily confirmed. Stiles was seated in front of his laptop at the head of the kitchen table with Lydia, the object of Stiles' affection for years, and Danny, the lacrosse team goalie, at either side. Jackson was sitting next to Lydia, and he couldn't help but feeling surprised at his presence considering the frankly insane history between Jackson, Scott, and Stiles.

Scott and Allison were sharing a chair, Scott talking in eager tones to another member of the lacrosse team next to him. Boyd, he recalled vaguely, remembering Stiles sitting with him on the bench more than once at a lacrosse game. A girl with long blonde hair who he didn't recognize was sitting across the table, listening intently while playing with a strand of her hair. The last member of the pack currently present he recognized instantly, though the leather jacket was new. Isaac was one of those kids that made him feel like he'd failed as a law enforcement officer in his duty to protect the vulnerable members of the community. Isaac didn't look up from where he was leaning against the back of the blonde girl's chair, but he could still see the lines of tension in Isaac's shoulders.

"Dad!" Stiles said, looking up from where he'd been intently reading.

"Stiles," he said evenly, watching the pack watch him in return. He wondered who was a werewolf and who wasn't, and was somewhat impressed when apart from Scott and Stiles he hadn't the slightest clue. At least they seemed to hide themselves well.

"I didn't think you'd be home this early. Just, you know, pack business," Stiles said, waving his hands to encompass the mess of papers on the table and the gathered group. "We can go?"

He shook his head and smiled wryly at them all. "Nope, you're fine. Just clean up when you're done. Do you want a couple of pizzas? It's moving on toward dinner time."

Stiles did a quick visual survey of the group surrounding him before turning back. "That would be great. Plain cheese and meat-lovers should cover everyone here. And a veggie for you; you shouldn't even be eating pizza."

"When you pay the bills you can order whatever pizza you want," he said and rolled his eyes as he pulled out his cellphone and retreated into the hallway, just a little bit unnerved. He stood quietly for a minute, listening as conversation slowly picked back up over whatever 'pack business' they'd been discussing. It had been oddly fascinating to see the way the others in the group had responded to him and to Stiles, particularly how they all seemed to be watching Stiles for their cues on how to act. As soon as Stiles had relaxed, when he'd been told the pack could stay, the tension in the room had reduced dramatically. Scott had told him that he didn't want to know how Stiles had become the second in command in their pack, which made him think that it was probably a tale that involved Stiles nearly dying, but he found that he was actually intensely curious how his son had wound up with the implicit trust of a pack of werewolves.

He gathered himself and walked two doors down to his office, first calling in for six pizzas - he was well versed in feeding hungry teenagers - and then sending a text message to Melissa McCall to let her know Scott was here with their pack. In the end Scott had declined his offer to be there when he told his mom, but she had called him later and they'd spent an hour expressing their sheer disbelief at how this could be happening to their children, and then another hour trying to make plans to ensure as much safety and communication as they possibly could with teenaged werewolves running around. He looked up when he heard the sound of conversation from the kitchen, easy laughter and the occasional voice rising playfully, and smiled to himself. Scott had been a good friend to Stiles for all of these years, but it was nice to see that Stiles had an entire group surrounding him when there were forces far more dangerous than he'd ever imagined lurking in the nearby shadows.

*****

Not long after making it clear that the pack was welcome in the house he started to see them more and more often. Usually it was in groups of two or three rather than the entire pack at once and he even caught a glimpse of Derek Hale lurking around from time to time. He was still interested in talking to Derek, the only time he'd had much interaction with him had been when he'd arrested him on suspicion for Laura Hale's murder, and at those times Derek had mostly exercised his right to remain silent along with a disinterested glare. There was a lingering wariness but he mostly trusted the combined judgement of Stiles and Scott, and while they hadn't been singing Derek's praises, they seemed to at least work well with the man they called their Alpha.

By combining his efforts with Melissa McCall, they'd managed to institute a very basic tracking system for the pack so that they would know everyone was alright on the nights they were out. Both Stiles and Scott were under orders to send texts with their approximate location and how many of the pack were with them at midnight and every two hours after that if they were out of the house, along with their status. He had arranged a simple system of code words that could be either spoken or texted that meant anything from 'send help' or 'keep your deputies out of the woods right now' to 'we're fleeing the area'. It had only taken a few hours after hearing about werewolves for the first time to decide he would do anything he could to keep his son and the rest of the kids in the pack alive.

After a small amount of deliberation he had offered to take Stiles and the rest of the pack to the shooting range. After the stories he'd heard, and was still getting in bits and pieces, he figured it was best that at least the humans in the pack knew how to handle a handgun. Stiles had smiled and shook his head, explaining that they all knew how to shoot with handguns, rifles, and that Allison was teaching them crossbow skills. When he'd expressed his disbelief, Stiles had only shrugged and said that the pack had spent their few weeks without any crises over the summer doing crash courses in all kinds of training, thanks to Derek. Stiles proceeded to demonstrate his proficiency with a handgun the next day at the shooting range and he had reminded himself that it was probably a good thing that these kids were essentially a teenaged supernatural militia.

On nights that the pack stayed out late Stiles tended to bring a few members home with him. It hadn't taken much to deduce that these were the kids that would either have difficulty sneaking back into their homes or didn't have a reason to go back. More than once when he came in from a late shift he'd find two or three teenagers wrapped in blankets and sleeping on the living room floor. He'd gotten to know the pack better now, knew who were the werewolves and who were the humans. The werewolves were more likely to sleep at the house than the humans, though he'd found Danny on the couch one morning with an ice pack over an impressive black eye. When he'd expressed his concern, Danny had just grinned and said it would be easy enough to explain as a lacrosse accident, not so easy to randomly show up to breakfast with a black eye.

It was almost four in the morning when he returned home after being called out to a domestic dispute that had turned into a non-fatal shooting. Stiles had texted him only an hour earlier to let him know that he and a few of the pack were back at home and everyone in the pack was fine after a minor confrontation with a rogue Olitiau - whatever that meant. He poked his head in the living room as he double checked the locks on the the doors and windows, expecting to see a couple of sleeping teenagers. There was no one there, though two blankets were at the end of the couch in a bundle, and he wondered if maybe whoever had been there had decided to go out again. 

He had once suggested to the other members of the pack that they might consider informing their parents, hoping to create some type of safety network for the kids, but he'd been met with quiet scoffs and shaken heads. Allison had pulled him aside after that non-conversation and politely told him that it was best if he didn't contact her father. The pack apparently had an uneasy truce with the remaining members of the Argent family, but it could be shattered by something as simple as them telling more humans about the existence of werewolves. He had gently asked if Allison wasn't a member of that family and she'd only tilted her head to look him squarely in the eyes while she told him that the pack was where her loyalties lay. She had left shortly after that with Scott and Stiles had told him with a grimace that the less said about the Argents the smoother things would go.

He finished checking the downstairs, poking his head out to check that Stiles' jeep was at the house, and then he went up with the intention of making sure Stiles was home. It was just past four now, which meant that it was check-in time if he was still out. Stiles' bedroom door was cracked open and he pushed it open far enough to see that not only was Stiles in his bed, there were at least two more people squished in as well. It took him a moment in the dim light to identify the other two individuals. Isaac, sleeping with his knees almost to his chest, was on Stiles' left side near the wall, and Erica, the blonde girl who favored low cut blouses and heavy makeup, was on her stomach with Stiles' right arm resting over her back. Erica turned, her eyes open and aware like she hadn't been asleep at all. She waited, watching him with a curious yet wary gaze.

He had the feeling that she was keeping watch over Stiles and Isaac while they slept and he only nodded and stepped out of the room, pulling the door back to its original mostly closed position. He should probably object to his son being in bed with two teenaged werewolves, but he hadn't seen any hint of impropriety or that they were doing anything other than drawing strength from having a person sleeping beside them. He missed that feeling too much to begrudge his son the same comfort from his pack. Pack was still an uncertain notion for him, what it meant exactly, but he figured he'd learn that more from watching them than he would by asking.

*****

His routine when he was home in time for dinner hadn't changed much in over twenty years. The jacket came off first, hung in the closet near the front door, and then his boots if he was as sure as he could be that he wasn't going back out that night. Ten years ago this routine would have been interrupted by Stiles shouting that his daddy was home and coming racing into the hallway to throw his arms around his father's neck in greeting as he talked faster than could be understood. When he saw his son now, the young man who had grown tall enough to look him in the eyes with only the slightest upward tilt of his head, he couldn't help but be reminded of the tiny child running through the house with his voice echoing through the halls in excitement.

It was a short walk from the hall closet to his office, his big toe peeking through the small hole in his left sock was he walked, and he paused at his safe to lock away his gun. After that he tucked away whatever files had made their way home with him, mindful of Stiles' curious eyes and propensity to go looking for something interesting when he got bored. He sat down behind his desk for a moment, listening because he could hear the voices and footsteps of at least six different people coming from the kitchen and the smell of something with marinara sauce cooking on the stove. For a moment, if he closed his eyes, he could imagine that this was seven years ago and it was his wife making dinner in the kitchen while her sister and brother-in-law and their two teenaged children milled about catching up on what had happened in their lives over the few weeks.

He forced his eyes open and back to the present because following that path led to nothing but pain. Not only had he and Stiles lost a wife and mother, they'd lost most of their extended family when his wife's sister had tried to convince him that Stiles would be better off with them instead of being raised by a widower who worked full-time, and then some, in law enforcement. He knew that if they had wound up going to court, which he would do a million times over if he'd had to in order to keep his son, they wouldn't have taken Stiles from him. It didn't matter that there had been no custody battle and no courtrooms, the damage had already been done and it wasn't long before his now deceased wife's family ceased to have any contact with him or Stiles. Sometimes he got the impression that he had unintentionally made the entire topic of the loss of their family taboo, something never to be spoken about, but by the time he'd realized that Stiles wouldn't talk about his mother it was too late to reverse the effects. He had tried, only to be rebuffed time and again, until he'd finally let the memory of his wife rest in pieces inside everyone who had lost her.

A knock on the doorframe shook him out of his thoughts and he looked up to find Erica watching him with a thoughtful expression. He gave a small smile and when she smiled back he realized she looked far more like an ordinary teenaged girl dressed in jeans and a Beacon Hills High School hoodie instead of decked out in leather and sultry makeup. "Can I help you with something?" he asked. He had let all of the pack know he was available to help if they needed anything; so far no one had taken him up on the offer but he still held out hope.

"Dinner is just about ready," she said, glancing around his office with what almost seemed like curious wonder. "We cooked and it's pretty good. Well, Lydia cooked and we helped. Apparently her chemistry skills apply in the kitchen too."

"I'll be right there," he said, watching as Erica finished looking at everything she could see from the doorway before she bounded away with the grace of a dancer.

He scratched his head ruefully, wondering if Stiles had decided to do a pack dinner here because he was supposed to be home, or if Stiles had thought that because he was supposed to be home for dinner that he wouldn't be. Unfortunately that was the case more often than not, despite his best efforts. He stood and went to the next stage of his coming home routine, stopping in the hallway bathroom to wash his hands and face and check that his uniform was clean of any blood that might have been shed that day. His clothes were clean but he considered going upstairs and changing anyway, mostly because he didn't want Stiles' pack to see him as just the Sheriff. In the end he left his clothes as they were, he was in his uniform more than anything else these days and that wasn't something he could change just by changing his clothes for dinner.

The final part of the routine had been painful for a long time and the associations hadn't changed despite the passage of time. He stepped into the kitchen, breathing in the smell of freshly cooked food, and for the first time in quite a while he wasn't confronted by the sight of Stiles eating dinner alone while standing at the counter with his laptop.

Lydia was still at the stovetop, slowly stirring a pot of red sauce with an expression of concentration curving her lips down ever so slightly. She waved Jackson over and picked up one of the extra spoons on the counter, scooping up a small amount of the sauce and guiding it up to Jackson's mouth. Jackson smiled and nodded, remaining by her side to brush a strand of her long hair away from her face as she turned back to the pot. Across the kitchen a card table had been set up against the regular dining table and Boyd and Isaac were setting the table while Scott threw silverware at them from the drawer. Allison and Erica were at the fridge, filling glasses with ice and water, and Stiles was bringing the full glasses to the table while narrowly avoiding the flying utensils. Danny was apparently responsible for the spaghetti noodles and was pouring them into a colander in the sink. The final member of the pack he noticed was perhaps the most surprising and he smiled as he watched Derek using a spatula to remove breadsticks from a baking sheet. From the hints of flour on the counter and the powdery white smudge on Derek's shirt, it was a pretty good guess that the breadsticks were made from scratch.

"This is quite the operation," he said when there were no more utensils being thrown across the room. Werewolves or not he didn't think it wise to accidentally startle anyone when forks had become projectile objects.

Everyone in the kitchen looked to him in a single motion. It was a rather eerie side effect of being pack that he'd encountered a few times before. It reinforced his suspicions that there was some kind of low level mental link between all of the pack, even the humans, and once again he silently marveled at how strange his life had become in the past few weeks.

"We thought it would be nice, to have dinner. Together," Derek said, his words strained as though he wasn't sure what he should say. "With you."

He smiled and stepped into the kitchen, getting the picture that everyone was waiting for his reaction. "Well it smells delicious and I think that's a great idea."

Derek nodded, his mouth not quite forming a smile but not a frown or a neutral expression either. "Good."

He moved through the small crowd of bodies, letting the pack finish their preparations as he found a chair and observed. The more he had seen of Derek the more he understood that even though Derek was nearly seven years older than most of the pack, he was socially and emotionally closer to being a teenager than an adult. He hadn't worked the arson case on the Hale house the first time around, he hadn't been the sheriff of Beacon Hills County at the time, but he still remembered seeing Derek and Laura, teenagers both, huddled together in shock as they were given news of the fire and the murder of their entire family. Now, he had no doubts that Derek had the potential to be one of the most dangerous men in the entire county, but he also knew that Derek was just as lost as most of the kids in the pack.

It wasn't much longer until all of the food was brought to the table and everyone scrambled for seats in a babble of noise and banter. After a few bites of the spaghetti and a chunk from the breadstick, he realized that Lydia was watching with interest from her seat between Allison and Boyd. Derek was purposefully not paying attention to him as he ate and watched over his pack with a distracted gaze.

"Delicious," he pronounced. "My compliments to the chefs."

His sentiment was repeated around the table in a chorus of voices and Lydia flushed briefly with satisfaction before her smile became self-assured once again. "Well, honestly, what did you expect?" she asked, but her pleasure at their compliments was hard to miss.

"Do you bake much, Derek?" he asked when most of the conversation around the table had died as everyone dug into the meal with the enthusiasm of a horde of half-starved teenagers.

Derek seemed surprised by his inquiry and shifted his shoulders with discomfort. "From time to time."

It wasn't much of an answer, but it was about as much as he'd expected. He spent most of the rest of the meal enjoying his food and watching the pack. Several times places were exchanged and casual touch between pack members, the werewolves in particular, was frequent. He'd noticed this before too, how members of the pack would go out of their way to make contact with each other through a brush of hand against an arm or the nudges of a knee against the person next to them. Even Derek participated and he couldn't help but notice that everyone in the pack managed to touch both Derek and Stiles over the course of the meal.

The dinner was concluded with sugar cookies that had been baked earlier in the day, Erica proudly exclaiming that Isaac and Danny had made them under her direction. It was the best meal, and the loudest, that he could recall in his house for far too many years.

*****

It had been a strange week, a week that coincided with a full moon on Friday, and it was nearly midnight on Saturday when he stepped into his house and tilted his head at the smell of blood and disinfectant. The almost metallic scent of blood and the sharp tang of disinfectant wasn't something that most people would have noticed immediately, it wasn't even that strong from where he was standing, but he'd been visiting bloody crime scenes all week and hadn't expected the smell to greet him in his own home.

"Ow, damn it! Watch it with those things!" a voice demanded from the living room.

He left on his boots and his gun as he walked to the living room, resting his hand on his holster in preparation to draw his gun if there was danger. No one looked up when he came to a stop in the doorway and silently observed the messy scene. Only about half of the pack was present and most of them seemed to be in rough shape. He blinked at the small collection of broken and bloody arrows that had been dropped onto a cookie sheet and at the makeshift bandages that had been discarded. There was a massive first aid kit spread out on the coffee table and towels padding the floor where Jackson was on his back with blood coating his bare arms and chest.

"This would be easier if you would hold still," Stiles said with a scowl, his own hands bloody as he knelt at Jackson's side and held an equally bloody pair of tweezers. He paused to wipe his hands clean on one of the towels and returned to the wound without wavering in his attention. "There is one fragment left and I can't get it if you move. So if you want to heal, don't move. Erica, Isaac, keep him down."

"On it," Erica said, her hands pressing down on Jackson's arm near where the wound was bleeding sluggishly. Isaac was right next to her, all of his weight pressed down on Jackson's shoulder and chest so he couldn't shake them off.

He couldn't take his eyes away from what he was seeing, the noise in the room seeming to disappear entirely as he watched his son dig a bullet fragment from Jackson's upper arm while the rest of the gathered pack assisted him; Danny handing Stiles a water bottle to wash the wound and then gauze without being prompted, while Erica and Isaac continued to hold Jackson in place. None of them flinched away from the process and performing medical procedures was clearly not out of the norm for them. He didn't want to think about how many times they must have done this in order for Stiles, who used to look away when he was getting shots, to only seem focused instead of horrified. His hearing came back suddenly and it took him a moment to realize that it was Jackson's inhuman growl he was hearing as Jackson's eyes turned a bright yellow-green and his teeth sharpened and extended over his lips.

Stiles pushed Danny back in that same moment, but didn't back away himself. "Jackson, keep it down, now. You're not going back out there tonight and you will stay in control. Don't make me tell the Alpha that you couldn't control yourself around the human members of the pack."

He almost wanted to smile at that, for it sounded very much like a parent scolding a misbehaving child and threatening to tell the disciplinarian in the family about the child's misdeeds. Instead he just watched as Jackson struggled against the transformation, seeming pained as he fought against Isaac and Erica's hold. Danny was at his side a moment later, tipping his head toward the hallway with a grim expression. He could tell Danny didn't want him to argue with him and while he wanted to stay near Stiles, he didn't want to distract them from keeping Jackson under control.

"It's best if we get a few rooms away until Jackson's back with us. Part of being human around here," Danny said with a wry smile as soon as they were a few steps down the hall.

"Stiles is human," he pointed out, half wanting to demand that Stiles get away from Jackson, but not willing to make the situation worse in order to do so.

Danny shrugged and then led the way back toward the kitchen. "Stiles is second in our pack. Jackson's wolf will recognize that instinctively, but he'll also recognize that Stiles is human and won't try to confront him physically. Isaac and Erica together are a match for Jackson, but for the sake of your living room I hope it doesn't come to that."

He reached out and grabbed Danny's shoulder, not squeezing tight enough to hurt, but enough that Danny turned in the small space of the hall to look at him. It took a moment to realize it wasn't just blood he could smell on Danny, but also gun powder residue from a recently discharged weapon. Whatever they'd been caught up in tonight had been bad. "Is Stiles in danger right now?"

"No, he'll be fine. Even when Jackson is wolfed out he knows that the Alpha will kill him if he hurts Stiles. Pack hierarchy and all that," Danny said, unfazed by the words he was saying.

He stared at Danny, trying to decide where he was supposed to put his foot down about this insanity and when was he just going to go along with whatever was normal for the pack. "Is the rest of the pack alright? Does anyone need to go to the hospital?" he finally asked. Keeping everyone alive took precedent over his objections about the possibility of Derek Hale _killing_ a member of the pack.

"We took care of everyone who was injured here. Jackson will heal pretty quick now that the bullet is out. He also took an arrow to the side, but that's already started to patch over. Isaac took two arrows in his left leg, but he's alright now. Erica hit her head pretty bad, but she popped up just fine," Danny summarized as he stepped around him and into the kitchen. "Stiles and I managed to stay out of range this time."

He followed Danny into the kitchen with a sigh and watched as Danny went directly to the sink and started to scrub his hands and arms all the way up to his elbows to remove the smudges of blood. "What happened out there?" he asked, half wondering if he was going to be getting a call in a few days to let him know about bodies found in the woods.

"Derek sensed that our territory had been breached by a pair of nomad werewolves last night. We searched but weren't able to pick up their trail until this evening," Danny said, his voice matter of fact even as he kept his focus on his hands in the sink.

"Werewolves were shooting at you?" he asked incredulously.

Danny turned off the water and dried his hands on a paper towel before he turned to face him. "No. That would be the Hunters that followed them into our territory."

Stiles had always been a little bit cagey when he talked about Hunters and the lack of details other than the fact that Hunters included Allison's family made him more wary than usual. He didn't ask about them when Allison was around, but the rest of the pack had shown the same reluctance to discuss Hunters in more than very vague and general terms. "And these Hunters were shooting at everyone, including you and Stiles and the other humans in the pack?"

"We've allied ourselves with the pack, which makes us even worse than werewolves in the eyes of Hunters. Werewolves can't help what they are. Stiles, Lydia, Allison, and I, we're there by choice. Allison and Lydia stayed at Allison's house to prove that Allison wasn't involved in the battle. Her father is willing to pretend he doesn't know about her pack allegiances, but their family is well known in the Hunter community. If it became known that Allison is a collaborator, Hunters would descend on Beacon Hills and it would be a massacre," Danny folded his arms and stared defensively. "Are you still okay with the pack being at your house? If Hunters ever followed us, there is no way they wouldn't eventually link you to us."

"Stiles is my son and I'm almost positive there is nothing that I can do at this point to remove him from the pack. If I tried, I would lose him," he said, knowing in his heart that this was true. If he asked Stiles to choose between him and the pack, it would break both of them, and even if Stiles tried to walk the line in between he would eventually wind up with the pack. "Instead I'd rather help all of you survive. And Hunters are just humans, right?"

"Very well armed humans who won't hesitate to kill someone in their sleep. They won't give you the chance to defend yourself if they can help it," Danny said. He didn't have to add that they would just as likely burn the house down around them, just like the Hale house seven years ago.

He nodded at Danny to let him know he understood, saddened that these teenagers had essentially become guerilla soldiers in an invisible war when they had been only worrying about homework and lacrosse and dating fifteen months ago. "Fortunately I am also well armed and I'm not afraid to defend myself from anyone who comes against me and my son and anyone who is allied with him," he said as he resettled his hand over his gun.

Danny gave him a short nod and his shoulders sagged with weariness at the understanding.

"Are there going to be bodies in the woods for some hapless hiker to find in the next couple of days?" he asked, just so he would have a heads up. Bodies in the woods surrounding Beacon Hills had become somewhat of a common occurrence in the past year, though most of them were barely recognizable as human when they were discovered.

"Shouldn't be," Danny said, wiping his hands on a towel and then checking them over again. "The Hunters took their wounded with them and Derek, Scott, and Boyd are escorting the werewolves off pack territory on the other side. Now that the Hunters aren't following them they might be able to settle somewhere."

That was something at least. He was about to press for more information about the Hunters, descriptions at least so he would know if they came through town again, but Stiles came in carrying the small bowl with bullet fragments and a handful of bloody gauze.

He pulled out the trashcan for his son immediately and got a tired and grateful smile in return.

"Jackson is back to himself and healing up just fine. I sent the wolves upstairs to shower and put on clothes that aren't bloody or full of holes. I'm going to run the towels through the washing machine, they should be fine. I googled blood removal methods and there shouldn't even be any stains," Stiles said, his now empty hands fluttering restlessly as he rambled. "Living room should be back in one piece before you know it. No one even bled on the carpet."

"Good to hear," he said, and he followed Stiles and Danny back into the living room to help them clean up. It looked like a temporary hospital had set up camp there and he set himself to throwing away the rest of the used bandages while Danny expertly put the first aid kit back together and Stiles gathered the towels from the floor. When Danny stepped out to go wash up the tweezers and other tools that had gotten bloody, he stood up and walked over to Stiles.

"Hey," he said, frowning when Stiles startled and dropped the towel he'd just picked up.

"Next time take the wounded somewhere else?" Stiles guessed, his mouth scrunching up unhappily.

He shook his head. "No, here is fine. Just come here for a second." He wrapped his arms around Stiles as soon as he'd stepped close enough and held him tight like he was that tiny child he remembered racing around the house and yard and falling and scraping his knees on the driveway. "You're alright? You're not hurt?"

Stiles shook his head but didn't move away from the embrace. "No humans were harmed in the making of this horror film," he joked, his tone just barely missing the mark.

"I'd forbid you from going into the woods if I thought it would help," he said, smiling when Stiles stepped back to pick up the towels he'd dropped.

"It wouldn't," Stiles said. "And I really like not lying to you about where I've been in the middle of the night."

"Me too," he agreed. He finished gathering up the rest of the bloodied garbage and took out the trash. He paused in his office to remove his gun, though he briefly considered staying armed that night in case the Hunters had followed them after all. Back in the kitchen he found three damp werewolves, all dressed in Stiles' clothing. Their bodies, slumped yet twitchy, were clearly trapped in that restless place where they were exhausted but way too keyed up to fall asleep.

"You kids look starved and I cook up a mean midnight stir-fry. What do you say?" he asked as soon as Stiles had returned from the basement where there was now the distant sound of the washing machine running.

"That sounds really good," Jackson said, his eyes now back to their normal blue-green.

Stiles and Danny simultaneously rolled their eyes. "Jackson wanted me to go through a drive-thru on our way back, even as he was bleeding out in the backseat," Stiles said pointedly with a glare at Jackson.

"I was hungry," Jackson said with a shrug.

Erica and Danny's laughter filled the room and everyone joined in. He went to the fridge with a smile on his face, the exhaustion he'd carried with him when he'd first come home just about completely washed away.

*****


	2. Chapter 2

Being the Sheriff of Beacon Hills County often meant that he was up and out of the house well before dawn or getting home past midnight, sometimes on the very same day. The wind had been rattling his window for most of the night so it wasn't a hardship to roll out of bed at four thirty in the morning and get ready, all the while hoping that the fall storm hadn't blown too much debris into the streets that could cause accidents. He stopped at Stiles' bedroom and poked his head inside, watching for a moment as his son was almost completely still except for the rise and fall of his chest. It was a rare sight, Stiles was almost always in motion, and it was good to see him safe and resting on the morning of a school day. In retrospect it was kind of amazing that Stiles' grades were as good as they were when there were many nights he stayed out late on pack business. He'd never seen Stiles express weariness at the situation or complain that he had too much to do in a day. The advantage of being a hyperactive teenager, he supposed.

He went downstairs, intent on a decent cup of coffee and scrambled eggs on toast before he left for work, but he paused in the entryway to the living room when he spotted a sleeping body curled up on the couch. He hadn't heard any of the pack come in with Stiles last night, though to be honest he hadn't done much more than poke his head out his bedroom to check in with Stiles that everyone was alright.

He didn't have to get closer to know that it was Isaac on the couch, the hunched posture was a dead giveaway even without the telltale mess of brown curls. This was the second time he'd found Isaac on sleeping on the couch in the morning when there had been a storm in the night and when none of the rest of the pack was there. He frowned for a long moment, his suspicions about Isaac's living situation growing stronger. Most of the pack seemed to have parents that didn't particularly care about where their children were in the middle of the night, if they noticed their absence at all, but for the most part they returned to their own homes to sleep. Allison's family was unique in that her father demanded that she was home by eleven on weeknights. The way Isaac came and went with the pack, always there if Stiles was there, was starting to raise warning flags all over the place.

At some point in the night Isaac had pushed off the quilt he'd sleeping under, a quilt from the upstairs closet which meant that Stiles must have gotten it for him. He walked over to the couch, aware from the sudden change in Isaac's breathing that he was awake, and picked up the quilt and placed it back over him. The number of times he'd found Stiles with his covers on the floor momentarily overrode his senses and before he realized what he was doing he ran a gentle hand through Isaac's hair. Isaac's entire body tensed for a moment but he continued to feign sleep.

He walked away and into the kitchen flipping on the coffee pot while he checked through his cell phone to make sure he still had the number for the Department of Child and Family Services. He did, but he decided to put off calling until he was down at the station. It wasn't a conversation he wanted to have when there was a possibility that Isaac or Stiles could wander into the kitchen at any moment. Cooking breakfast took his mind away from the possibilities for a few minutes; he wound up making extra, quite a bit extra since the appetites of werewolves seemed to surpass those of even regular teenaged boys, and he wrapped a plate for the fridge. He left a note on the counter so they would know the food was for them, along with a reminder that they should try to get to school before the tardy bell rang. Stiles already had a rather impressive collection of tardies, not that he could fault his son entirely. Saving the town from the latest crisis was more important than getting to class on time, even as a parent he had to acknowledge that much.

He checked the living room one last time before he left and wasn't entirely surprised to find the room vacant and the quilt neatly folded at the end of the couch. The chain on the front door was still latched, along with the extra deadbolt he'd installed after learning about werewolves - not that it would stop a werewolf from breaking through, but it would give him an extra moment to get the shotgun he had preloaded with wolfsbane bullets. Stiles had told him, in the tone of what was both a truth and a joke, that werewolves seemed to favor windows over doors, and sure enough when he checked the windows the far window in the living room was closed but unlocked. He left it unlocked in case Isaac decided to come back and then finished getting ready for work.

Twenty minutes later he was across town, relieved to see that the major streets hadn't collected too much debris, which would make the day much easier for himself and for his deputies. He took the report from the nightshift, all quiet for a nice change of pace, and two hours after his shift started he was settled in his office with a stack of files. The station itself was almost was almost deserted as his deputies went out to patrol. He picked up the phone, paused for a moment as he considered what he was doing, and then dialed the number he'd looked up earlier in the day.

"This is Sheriff Stilinski from the Beacon Hills County Sheriff's Department. I'd like to speak to the case worker for Isaac Lahey. That's L-A-H-E-Y," he said, and then was put on hold. He didn't really expect to get much information from the case worker immediately, he knew as well as anyone that the system was overburdened considering the number of children who were in state custody.

"Deonne Robinson speaking," a woman said shortly after the hold music cut off. "How may I help you?"

"I'm Sheriff Stilinski. I called in February regarding a teenager who needed to be placed following the death of his father. I have some concerns about his current living situation. His name is Isaac Lahey," he said, drumming his fingers against his thigh.

"Give me a moment to pull the file," she said and there was a shuffling sound through the phone. "Ah, yes, Isaac. Unfortunately I don't know much about his current situation. He has my number and knows to call me if he wants somewhere to stay."

He frowned. "I wasn't aware that sixteen year olds were given the option of not being placed with a family or in a group home, not without going through emancipation proceedings first."

"They're not. I placed Isaac with a foster family the day after you alerted us to his situation, drove him there myself. The very next day I get a call from the family to inform me that Isaac disappeared in the night and none of the other children in the home saw him leave despite the fact that they were sharing a room with him. Every time I attempted to approach him at Beacon Hills High School he would disappear. Finally I left him my card and a message with the front office, letting him know that if he needed help he should call me. I check with the school every now and then, and amazingly his attendance isn't half bad considering the situation," she said and then gave a heavy sigh. "It's far from conventional, but I didn't feel that it would help to send officers of the law to collect him when he would just disappear again."

"I can understand that," he said grudgingly. He did understand, but he didn't like it at all.

"Has there been a problem? Is he in the custody of your office?" she asked, sounding both resigned and concerned.

"No. He's become friends with my son and has stayed over at my house a couple of times, which was why I was concerned about where he was staying the rest of the time," he said, thinking quickly. "Actually, I was wondering about the possibility of fostering him with my family. I've been a licensed foster care provider for many years, though we haven't taken a child for quite some time."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. "I'd have to get confirmation of that, but if everything checks out and Isaac wants to stay with you, I don't see why not."

He nodded to himself, relieved that something might be easy for once. "If you'll let me know for certain I will ask him. Now, I'm not at all sure he'll agree, but it would better than how he's living now." He honestly didn't know where Isaac stayed when he wasn't with the pack; he had assumed at first that Isaac had been placed in a group home that didn't care much about curfews.

"I'll try to get back to you by the end of the day. If I can ask now, though, what was the reason you haven't fostered in so long?" she asked.

"My wife died seven years ago," he said, his chest catching slightly with the words.

"And what changed so that you feel able to foster a child again?" she asked. "I don't mean to pry, but it is relevant to the situation."

He thought for a moment, his lips twitching when he thought that at least part of the truth was _werewolves_. "I had a long talk with my son, two months ago, and we're both in a place where we're ready to start rebuilding our family."

*****

He received a return call from the case worker late the same afternoon informing him that if he wanted to foster Isaac that getting the paperwork through shouldn't be an issue. He thanked her and jokingly asked that she wait at least a week or two until she did a home visit. At least he was mostly joking; he wasn't sure what he was going to do if the case worker came over and there were werewolves bleeding on the living room floor. He left a message on Stiles' phone asking if he wouldn't mind dropping by the station to have dinner, just the two of them, and then pulled out the stack of files that had accumulated after the latest in a string of small store robberies.

An hour and a half later Stiles' showed up with two bags of fast food, a slightly disappointing and maddening prospect when his burger turned out to be a veggie burger with a side of bean salad and coleslaw. "You're on my list," he said with a shake of his finger as he bit into his burger.

Stiles only grinned, which was typical since he never much been cowed by his father's stern demeanor. "We're eating healthy, remember? I've only been going on about this for the past three years."

"Uh huh, which is why when I take out the trash I find burger wrappers and empty containers of curly fries," he said, knowing his son's not-so-secret weakness for curly fries.

"It's the wolves," Stiles said with fond exasperation. "They have the most ridiculous metabolism and I've got to feed them something. I'd have a mutiny on my hands if I tried to put them on the health food plan."

He raised an eyebrow. "You should be concerned about your father instigating the mutiny," he said in a mock threatening tone. "I could run a campaign of curly fries and I'm pretty sure you would be outvoted."

"Maybe until Derek got wind of your evil plans to take over his pack." Stiles smirked. "So, what's with the super secret meeting away from the pack? Erica was all worked up that you were going to kidnap me and take me out of the state to get me away from the pack. You're not going to do that, right? Because if that's your plan, it's a really bad one. They'd just follow us and I hate to tell you this, but I wouldn't exactly be on your side in the matter."

"Well, to start with, it wouldn't be kidnapping since I have full custody of you and you're a minor. And secondly, no. You told me you were in for the long haul and I believe you," he said. He should have been surprised that any of the pack would even think that of him, but he had seen that for the most part the kids in the pack didn't trust easily.

Stiles bobbed his head and took a sip of his soda. "Good. That's good. So, what's up? The neighbors aren't complaining, are they? Because we're really quiet when we're coming and going in the night."

"No, nothing like that," he paused as he considered the best way to approach the topic before Stiles derailed him completely. "Isaac stayed over on the couch last night."

"Yeah, you said you didn't mind if some of the pack crashed at our house overnight occasionally," Stiles said, but the way he shifted in his seat meant that he already knew what his dad was getting at.

"I checked with social services and it seems that Isaac disappeared in February from the foster home where he was placed," he continued. "Do you have any idea where he's been staying since then?"

Stiles shrugged and shook his head. "I always figured he stayed with Derek."

"At the Hale house? The one that's falling apart in the woods?" he asked, sincerely hoping that wasn't the case. He'd seen werewolves heal wounds, but if that house collapsed down on them he wasn't sure they would survive long enough to heal themselves.

"No, Hunters started staking it out. We stay away from there," Stiles said and then sighed. "I can't tell you where the pack den is. Derek would have to do that."

He frowned. He'd read the Harry Potter books with Stiles when Stiles had been younger and some of the stuff had stuck with him. "What, like magic?"

Stiles stared in confusion and then laughed. "No, I just mean that the Alpha of the pack is the only one who is allowed to reveal the location of the pack den to non-pack. Though it would be really cool if we could enforce that magically. I'll have Danny and Lydia help me look into it."

"What I'm asking, if you'd let me, is if the pack den a suitable location for people to actually be living. Electricity? Heat? Running water?" he asked, already reading the answer in the unhappy twist of Stiles' mouth. "No? Okay."

"Derek's a little bit, well, let's just say he lacks some of the attachments that the rest of have to modern living," Stiles said thoughtfully. "Actually, I don't think he's really lived anywhere like a house or an apartment since his family was murdered. I don't think he realizes that he could, or maybe he just doesn't want to be reminded all the time."

He sighed and nodded because it made too much sense. It had taken them years to sort themselves out after the death of his wife. If he had lost Stiles too, all in one fell swoop, he couldn't imagine ever going back to anything that resembled a normal life. "I know it's been quite some time since we've fostered a child-"

"Yes!" Stiles interrupted, bounding to his feet and letting his sandwich wrapper fall to the floor. "You want to foster Isaac, that's what you were going to say, right?"

"Would you be alright with that?" he asked uncertainly. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Stiles competing for attention or bring conflict into the pack.

Stiles just grinned. "Of course I would. First of all it would make my life so much easier. Honestly, I swear half the pack wouldn't function without someone herding them around, and that totally does include Scott. Second, I've always wanted a little brother, and even if Isaac is taller than me, he would still be my _little_ brother. Third, if you could legally take the rest of the pack in I'd be advocating for that, but Isaac is the one most in need of some normalcy in his life right now. Well, Derek notwithstanding, but you kinda have to be sneaky when it comes to getting him to do things for his own good."

He sighed, having figured as much regarding Derek. Maybe at some point in the future, when he'd gotten to know Derek a little better, he'd suggest to Derek that he should consider an apartment - ostensibly for appearance's sake. Stiles wasn't the only person who could be sneaky. "You understand this isn't going to be like if it was Scott coming to live with us, right? Isaac's been through some pretty rough stuff."

"I know, dad. More than I ever wanted to," Stiles said, his smile having fallen away.

They sat in silence for a moment and he tried to decide if this really was the right thing to do for their family. "Do you think Isaac will even want to live with us?" he asked, poking at his bean salad with the tines of his plastic fork.

Stiles shrugged. "Only one way to find out."

*****

The next night he arrived home later than he'd intended by a few hours. A call for backup had come over the radio thirty minutes before his shift was due to be over and he'd raced across town in hopes that they'd finally caught the robbers that had been menacing main street for the past two weeks. Instead he found three men who had been in a car accident over a parking space and had gotten into a physical altercation instead of trading insurance information. One of them had actually had the audacity to throw a punch at him when he'd stepped in to stop the fight, though at least the bruise on his shoulder was covered by his uniform. Stiles always got a little bit twitchy when he came home from work wounded. The fear that his son could lose his one remaining parent was something they both shared.

He heard the tv on in the living room and after he'd settled himself in for the night he poked his head in to see what was going on. There was a pile of dvds on the floor next to the tv and two-thirds of the pack gathered on the couch or on the floor. Lydia wrinkled her nose when Erica threw some popcorn at her and Danny and Jackson were playfully bumping elbows as they tussled over a box of candy. Stiles, Boyd, and Isaac were on the floor, Stiles in the middle of an in-depth explanation about the merits of the various Spiderman continuities while Isaac occasionally managed to get in a word of disagreement. Boyd just seemed amused by the entire argument, but they both stopped to listen when he offered his occasional opinion. 

Leaving them alone, at least until they were done with their movie, he went into the kitchen and found a plate of leftovers still warm in the oven. He was grateful for the food and for the consideration, but it slightly spoiled his brief illusion that the kids in the pack could still just play around and be kids for one night. The more he observed them the more he saw that they all tried to take on the weight of the world, even when he discounted the fact that they were in semi-regular battles that involved guns, crossbows, and the claws and teeth of werewolves.

By the time he finished eating and wandered back over to the living room the end credits were rolling and the kids had turned their attentions entirely to a lively discussion about Gwen Stacy verses MJ Watson, a conversation which Lydia was unexpectedly dominating. He watched in an amusement as Lydia outlined her argument, her fingers rising individually as she moved from point to point. At the end of her impassioned defense of MJ she was showered with pieces of popcorn thrown from various angles, though she was laughing when the onslaught was over.

"If I had known this was the geek pack, I would have found a different werewolf to bite me," Jackson complained from where he was now pressed between Stiles and Danny on the couch.

Stiles grinned. "Oh shut up, you love us and you know it."

"I found Mary Jane to be quite compelling, actually," he said, stepping into the room and receiving the full attention of the gathered pack.

"That's just because you haven't seen the new Spiderman movie, dad," Stiles said, shaking his head in disapproval as he extricated himself from the couch and stumbled over to the dvd player to hit the eject button.

He smiled in return and turned his attention back to the group gathered around the couch. "Isaac, can I speak with you in my office for a few minutes?"

Isaac turned to face him, his expression briefly terrified before his masked it with something that was probably intended to aggression but came closer to a tense grimace. He pushed himself to his feet slowly but sent a pleading look to Stiles instead of stepping closer.

Stiles sighed and put the dvd case on the pile and walked over to Isaac's side. "Come on. It's nothing bad, I promise," he said. Isaac still didn't move until Stiles slipped his hand around Isaac's wrist and started walking, leaving Isaac with the choice of breaking away or coming with them.

He sat down behind his desk in his office, noticing that Isaac stayed near the door in case he needed to bolt. Stiles stood next to Isaac, though he'd dropped Isaac's wrist once they were all inside the office.

"Isaac, I became aware yesterday morning that your placement in the foster system didn't work out," he began, leaving off the part where that had been eight months ago. "I spoke with your case worker and she's willing to place you here, if that's something you want."

Isaac stared at him blankly for a moment and then turned to look at Stiles with the same pleading expression from earlier.

Stiles shook his arms up and down impatiently. "Basically it will be just like now, but you'd stay with us at nights and on the days we don't have school instead of moping around with Derek in the abandoned subway station. A step up, I would think."

"The pack den is in the abandoned subway station?" he asked, mostly managing to keep the horror out of his voice. There wasn't a lot of violent crime in Beacon Hills, but it still had it's rougher neighborhoods and the entrance to the subway station was right in the center of where eighty percent of the drug and gang violence calls came from. Sure, Isaac and Derek were werewolves and had a step up on most gang members but that wouldn't stop them from getting shot. 

"No?" Stiles asked, his cringe saying the exact opposite. "I didn't say that at all."

He sighed, more determined than ever to get both Isaac and Derek out of that place when he feasibly could. "Anyway, Isaac, you'd have the same rules as Stiles. I'd expect to know when you're out late running with the pack, do your homework, go to school, help out around the house a bit."

"Why?" Isaac asked, his voice catching in his throat. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. "I mean, why me? I'm better off than most of the pack. Erica and Lydia's parents barely realize they exist, Boyd's parents don't care what he does as long as his work is done for their family business. Why do you want to help me and not them?"

Stiles slipped his hand back around Isaac's wrist and gave his hand a short squeeze before pulling him over to the pair of chairs in front of the desk.

Considering his words carefully he ran his hand through his hair before he responded. "As unfortunate as that is, the most I can do to help them is offer them a safe, temporary place to stay when they need one. My point is that even if their parents perhaps aren't as aware as they could be, they still have an adult to turn to when they need something."

Isaac looked down and chewed on his lip before he responded. "Derek's my Alpha. He takes care of the entire pack."

Stiles immediately shot his dad a look that he could easily read as a warning to not insult Derek's care-taking abilities, regardless of the fact that they were apparently living in an abandoned subway station. "I understand that, and I'm glad he's been helping you, but that's not really the same as having an older adult around. I'd feel more comfortable with the pack's current situation if you had a stable home. It would also help when it comes time for you to start applying to colleges. I know you're still in your junior year, but that comes up faster than you'd expect."

The way Isaac shifted on the edge of his chair and averted his eyes told him that Isaac hadn't planned on applying for college at all. Isaac turned to Stiles, his eyebrows arched apprehensively.

"Why don't we call Derek and see what he thinks," Stiles said, giving both of them a tight smile as he held the cell phone up to his ear. "Hey, Derek." Stiles fell silent for all of thirty seconds before he rolled his eyes and tipped his head from side to side. He stood up and passed the phone over the desk. "It's for you."

He arched his eyebrows but accepted the phone from Stiles and held it to his ear. "Hello?"

"You're seeking guardianship over Isaac, is that correct?" Derek's voice came through the phone.

"How did you know that?" he asked, because Stiles had promised he wouldn't say anything and now that he was in the werewolf loop Stiles had been overly intense about keeping promises made between them.

"That doesn't matter," Derek said. Instead of a growl, like he'd half expected, Derek's voice was cold and almost detached. "Is it true?"

"It is," he said. "And for the record I'm not seeking your permission."

Derek laughed, low and short. "Good. For the record, I don't object. I just wanted to make something clear between us first."

"And that is?" he asked when Derek didn't continue.

"I understand that you are Stiles' father and that he's very attached to you. Stiles is my second and there is very little I wouldn't do for him. However, Isaac is under my direct protection. If you harm him, I will have absolutely no qualms about ripping you apart. Do you understand?" Derek asked. If his voice had been detached before it was now on fire with his intensity.

He leaned back in his chair and considered both of the boys in front of him. "I understand. However, that goes both ways. I get that werewolf culture is a little bit different, but I will not tolerate outright abuse of any of the members of your pack. It might be more difficult for me to kill you, but have no doubts that I will devote my very last breath to doing so," he said, ignoring Stiles' wide eyes and the way he was frantically waving his arms to tell him to stop.

"Then we have reached an understanding. In most situations I would say that humans have no idea what it means to have a pact with an Alpha werewolf, but you seem to be educated on the topic. Pass the phone to Isaac," Derek said.

He took a moment to stare at Stiles' phone is disbelief but stood and passed it back across the desk to Isaac.

Isaac took the phone and held it to his ear. He sat absolutely still while he listened for approximately a minute and then hung up without saying a word to Derek. "If you want me to stay here, I will," he said, his jaw set grimly as he passed the phone back to Stiles.

"Only if you want to," he said, not wanting to push his luck but not wanting Isaac to agree just because Derek had ordered him to either.

"I do," Isaac said, the lie in the words obvious with the quick flash of his eyes.

Stiles stood. "Okay, great. Details and paperwork in the morning? Good," he said, motioning for Isaac to go with him.

"Go on, go be with the pack. We'll work out the rest tomorrow," he said, nodding to Isaac when he didn't leave the chair. He watched as Isaac gave him a glance he could only call suspicious as he left. He leaned back in his chair, listening for several long minutes until the noise level in the living room rose again.

The conversation had given him a great deal to think about, about how the pack itself functioned and the role of the Alpha, as well as the leadership role Stiles seemed to play. What stuck out most of all, even more than the completely unsubtle death threats from Derek, was the uncomfortably outraged remarks Isaac had made about the living situations of the other pack members.

He went to bed later that night, still running over the whole thing in the mind the way he would a case, turning over details while searching for a solution. The rest of the pack had dispersed within half an hour, but when he peeked inside Stiles' bedroom he found Stiles and Isaac in Stiles' bed, Stiles running his hand slowly through Isaac's hair. Isaac's eyes traveled to the door and he hunched down, almost hiding behind Stiles, and then watched apprehensively like he expected to be ordered out of the room.

Stiles twisted around to see what had captured Isaac's attention. "Night dad," he said, and then yawned.

"Goodnight boys," he said, once again coming to the conclusion that the bed sharing thing had more to do with comfort than with sex. He left and settled into his own bed. Sleep didn't come until early morning hours when the pieces all slipped together in his mind and he realized what he could do.

*****

He had run the idea past Stiles first, who had been predictably enthused with the proposition, so it hadn't come as a surprise when after a week to let the idea take root he asked Stiles to call a pack meeting at the house when it was feasible. Two days later, a Saturday morning that was still a week away from the next full moon, the entire pack had crowded into the living room with the exception of Derek. Derek had dropped by unannounced the night before and had given his tacit approval for the plan and had promptly disappeared, though not before leaving Isaac in the kitchen with the order to stay put for the weekend. Isaac was having some difficult adjusting and he had made himself scarce in general, though he was good about giving text updates with his whereabouts every night.

The pack had most of their attention focused on where Stiles was standing at the front of living room, Stiles rocking back and forth on his feet while he waited for them to finish getting settled. "Alright, my dad has a couple of things he wants to say to us, so, uh, here he is."

He smiled wryly as his son went back to the couch and wedged himself in between Scott and Danny. "Thank you for the introduction. Now, as you're all aware, I am perfectly fine with any members of the pack hanging out here or sleeping here when you need to do so. Since that has wound up with my living room floor being occupied more often than not, I decided that it was time to update the situation. I intend to convert the spare bedroom into a place for the pack to sleep."

It was a room he'd been using for storage for years, almost never opening the door because it had been his wife's office space. He liked to think that she would prefer the space to be used for something good, like housing a werewolf pack, instead of being left covered in dust.

"You are all free to come and go as you please, you don't need to tell me or Stiles. However, that comes with a certain number of caveats," he said, pausing when Erica's hand shot up. "Yes?"

"Caveats?" she asked, her nose wrinkling as she turned to glance at her packmates.

"He means like conditions. Rules," Boyd answered, and then gave him an uncertain glance, like maybe he shouldn't have answered for him.

He nodded. "That's right." And now he was having flashbacks to all of the times he'd gone to the elementary schools to tell the kids what he did as a sheriff.

"Like how Stiles texts you to tell you where he is and who is with him?" Erica asked.

"Exactly. Actually, that's the first one. You will all let me know if you're planning on staying here on a regular basis, and if that's so and you're out past midnight, you text me to let me know where you are. Same goes for Scott's house. They have a little less space but Melissa has offered her house as a place to stay as well. The idea is that if you're not at your parents' houses, either Melissa and I should know where you are, that way if someone is missing or there's a problem, we all know as soon as possible. Does that sound reasonable?" he asked. He received a lot of nods in return.

"You're seriously just opening your home to a bunch of kids, most of whom are werewolves?" Jackson asked.

He nodded. "I am. I've heard some about how you all limped through your first year as a pack and I'd like to do what I can to prevent that from happening again. With more resources available to you, I'd like to keep you all alive at least until you've graduated high school."

Several members of the pack shifted in their seats and glanced around at each other, their gazes inevitably ending up on Stiles.

"What are the other caveats?" Lydia asked primly.

"Pretty much the same ground rules you probably have with your parents. You do your homework and go to school. No alcohol at the house, no drugs period. If you're having sex, use a condom and common sense. My bedroom and office are off-limits. If your parents are going to wonder where you are, make sure they know where you're staying," he finished with a shrug. From the stares he was getting he realized that these possibly weren't the same rules that many of them had at their homes. "Any questions?"

Slowly people started to shake their heads and look up at him with uncertain smiles.

"Well, in that case, consider yourselves conscripted to help clean up the spare bedroom so we can put some furniture in there," he said, motioning to the staircase.

Lydia grinned and bounced to her feet. "Why don't you let us take care of that? Show us the space, we'll take care of the rest," she said as she tugged on Danny and Allison's hands.

"No pink," Boyd said as he stood up and followed the trio out the door. "No lavender, no puce, no peach, and no fuchsia."

Stiles rolled his eyes but let Isaac pull him up to his feet. "You know how we told you that Lydia is human? That's not quite true. She's terrifyingly smart and turns into some kind of demon when you turn her loose on a project. You may have thought this would have been as simple as putting a few beds in the room, and I can understand why you'd think that. It's an easy mistake to make. But, no. You've unleashed the Lydia. Good job, dad."

He laughed at Stiles' dismayed expression. "I'm sure we'll survive. Now go lend a hand and put the boxes in the east corner of the basement. Let me know if you need something."

"I guess we know how we're spending our weekend," Stiles muttered, though he and the rest of the boys left the room without further complaint.

"You do know that your dad is insane, right? No one does this," Jackson said in the hallway, still loud enough to be heard from the living room.

He didn't get to hear Stiles' response but he smiled and wandered back to his office to get a few things done while the pack was occupied. In a roundabout way, Jackson was right. There weren't many people who would take in whole passel of teenagers, particularly not teenaged werewolves, but it felt right. It felt like something he could do for his son and something that had been slowly bridging around the enormous hole left in their family.

*****

It didn't even take the entire weekend for the pack to refurnish the room, which included painting the walls, getting new curtains, and assembling the furniture - all done under Lydia's direction as she assigned tasks and called out orders. He didn't see much of the actual process of the room coming together, but he did watch from his open office door as werewolves trotted past, first laden boxes destined for the basement, and then the next day carrying pieces of furniture through the main hall and up the staircase. In all the only casualty had been a lamp knocked over next to the front door, which given how destructive the project could have gotten he considered the lamp to be a suitable sacrifice.

When he finally peeked in the finished room, Isaac, Lydia and Boyd finishing making up the pair of bunk beds with complementary comforters, he was impressed and struck with a little bit of loss. It had been years since anyone who had an eye for interior decorating had done anything to the house. He and Stiles kept things tidy and clean, but almost all of the rooms had been left exactly as they'd been when his wife had died. The new bedroom was perfect for a group of teenagers, the colors bright but not gender specific, and the furniture arranged to leave the middle of the room open. On the wall next to the door there was a large bulletin board that already had a few pictures and pieces of paper tacked up. The tall dressers at the end of the bunk beds, along with the new shelving installed in the closet, gave them plenty of storage space. From the original furniture, only his wife's desk was left, set in between the bunk beds directly under the window.

"How does it look?" Lydia asked as she finished putting on the last pillowcase and tossed the pillow up onto one of the top bunks. "I mean, it's not really finished, but I figured that we could all add posters and pictures."

"It's very nice," he said and smiled at her. "A lot better than the living room floor at least."

Isaac wrinkled his nose as he dropped his backpack in the closet and backed out of the space.

"You two, go get the rest of the pack and go running in the woods or something. I'll open a window and turn a fan on. It won't be so bad tonight," Lydia said, catching Isaac on his shoulder and gently pushing him from the room. Boyd followed him immediately, quicker on his feet than he seemed at first glance. "The paint smells a lot stronger to them. Derek says they'll get better at controlling how strong their senses are eventually, but I keep telling them that they have to practice or they'll go their whole lives as substandard werewolves that can't even walk into a bath and body shop."

He couldn't quite help smiling in response. He was fairly sure that Isaac and Boyd would be happy enough to have a reason not to go into a bath and body shop. "I'll go dig out the fan," he said, leaving Lydia adjusting the rug so that it was more exactly parallel to the beds.

After a week or so having the pack room he started to get a sense of who was likely to stay over at nights. Isaac claimed the bottom bunk on the bed furthest away from the door and one evening when they're eating dinner even volunteers the information that he shared a bunk bed with his brother when they were little. Isaac only slept in his bed about every few nights though, more often winding up in Stiles' bed some time before morning. The nights he did stay in his bed were usually the nights that Erica slept over and stayed in the same bed with him. The beds were a little bit narrow for sharing, but none of the pack seemed to mind sleeping almost directly on top of each other.

Erica stayed over intermittently, more often on the weekends than other times, and she'd quickly become a regular fixture at meal times. She had explained that her mom was a flight attendant and usually wasn't home on the weekends, and her dad lived in Los Angeles. When she wasn't sharing a bed with Isaac she typically slept on the bunk directly above Isaac's bed. Boyd took that same bed when he stayed over, though his work schedule kept him out late more often than the others.

To his unending surprise Lydia was one of the more frequent pack members to stay over. She'd claimed the other bottom bunk, her stuffed giraffe on the pillow as a reminder to the rest of the pack that it was her space. He hadn't asked Lydia why she seemed much happier staying with them than at her own house, particularly when her family was quite well off, but he had the suspicion that she had been quite lonely before she had the pack.

Danny and Jackson stayed over occasionally, though usually only after a rough night out with the pack. Scott only stayed the night when they had pack business that ran into the morning hours, usually requiring one or more trips out into the woods, though he made regular appearances during the evenings. Even Derek came around more often, ate dinner with them from time to time, even when it was only the trio that actually lived in the house sitting down at the table at nine at night with a plate of sandwiches.

The only pack member who didn't stay around at night was Allison. She almost always arrived and left by herself and she seemed more and more reluctant every time she had to leave to go home. He walked her out one night while the werewolves left through the backyard into the woods. "Everything alright at home?" he asked when they reached her car on the street. He didn't know exactly what he'd do if she answered that it wasn't; he'd heard enough in passing by now to know that her father was a force to be reckoned with.

She sighed and leaned against the passenger door where she'd just thrown her backpack inside the car. "I don't want to lose him too, but I can't see him ever making peace with my belonging to a werewolf pack. If I were to get bitten one day, if things went really wrong, I'm pretty sure that he wouldn't even be able to look at me. Sometimes it's just hard to know that it would be so easy for him to walk away."

He considered that for a moment, a not insignificant part of him hoping that this conversation wasn't going to end with Allison in tears, and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. "It probably doesn't help, but I think that would be the hardest thing he would ever do. I know not all parents are the same, but if it had been Stiles who had flashed me his fangs and told me he was a werewolf, I would have been okay with it. Maybe not right away, that's a hell of an adjustment to make, but I wouldn't have ever loved him any less."

Allison arched her eyebrows sadly. "But you haven't spent your whole life hating and killing werewolves."

"No, I haven't," he agreed. "But my father was a police officer, and his father before him. If Stiles was a criminal, someone who I believed had committed heinous crimes, I would disapprove of what he'd done but I would still love him. That doesn't go away."

"He loved my mother too, and sometimes I wonder if things would have been different if it hadn't happened right then. Maybe he would have tried to hide her," Allison said, bringing both of her hands up to rub at her forehead.

He took a slow breath, but before he could ask exactly what Allison meant by that she'd flung her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. He patted her back and was once again grateful that while Stiles would give him a hug every now and then, he wasn't much one for crying on shoulders.

"Thank you for walking me to my car," she said, her voice hitching slightly but not in open tears. "I should go before I'm late."

He stepped up on the curb and watched as Allison drove away, a thoughtful frown on his face by the time she'd reached the stop sign at the end of the street and turned out of sight. When he came back inside, locking the front door but going around to check that the back window had been left unlocked so Isaac and Erica could climb in when they got back from running with the pack, he found Stiles at the kitchen table. Stiles had a physics textbook open but was rubbing his eyes rather than reading.

He sat down across from Stiles and waited until Stiles looked up. "If you can tell me, I'd like to know what happened with Allison's mother. Apparently there's more to that than what was included in the medical and police reports."

Stiles sighed and flipped his textbook closed. "Do you want the quick and gruesome version or the full version where some of us nearly die and the pack does a few questionable things?"

"Full version," he said without hesitation though while bracing himself to hear about his son facing ridiculous peril and probably breaking at least three laws.

"Well, remember how we told you that Jackson used to be a lizard?" Stiles asked, and the tale only grew stranger from there.

*****


	3. Chapter 3

He'd been shut away in his home office for most of the afternoon, having come off a long shift only at ten that morning. The case was only a week old but was already driving him to the point of low grade frustration. The second murder victim had been found the evening before, staked out on the roof of an apartment building. Forensics suggested she'd been up there for at least three days, and who knew how long it would have taken them to find her if the apartment building superintendent hadn't gone up to the roof to take a look at where a leak was running into the ceiling of one of the apartments. He'd called Derek shortly after he'd returned home, the cause of damage on the body wasn't readily identifiable, and Derek had only mumbled about things waiting in the woods before hanging up.

He stepped out in the hallway, intent on taking a half hour away from the files to have a meal and a cup of coffee before he made an attempt at the timeline again, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he bumped into Jackson. His eyebrows climbed as he got a good look at who he'd just walked into; Jackson's shirt was far too thin and clingy to be normal winter attire and his pants seemed like they'd almost been painted on.

"This is what happens when I let Danny help me pick an outfit," Jackson said when he took in the look he was receiving.

"You say that now but you'll be thanking me when you get eaten alive on the dance floor," Danny said as he descended the stairs in an outfit that was only slightly less exposing than Jackson's. "Don't worry, Mr. Stilinski. Stiles refused almost all of my suggestions for him. Not that he doesn't look nice, but he doesn't look like us either."

Thank God for small mercies, he thought and smiled at Danny. "I'm sure you did your best. I take it you're going out tonight?"

"New club, other side of town. We don't even need fake IDs to get in," Danny said, before quickly adding, "not that we have fake IDs."

"Uh huh," he said, knowing full well that most if not all of the pack had fake IDs. He figured that if they were old enough to fight the battles they faced, they were old enough to go clubbing. Mostly.

Jackson rolled his eyes. "If we ever get there. The girls closed themselves in the pack bedroom and we haven't heard anything from them forever."

"Are the rest of the guys around already?" he asked. He motioned them both into the living room when Danny nodded and pointed in that direction. All of the guys in the pack, with the exception of Derek, were hanging around in the living room. Fortunately Danny and Jackson's outfits were the most outrageous, though Boyd and Isaac seemed to be working the dark and dangerous leather look, while Scott and Stiles were both in outfits that actually fit them. Neither looked comfortable, Stiles continually tugging on the bottom of his form fitting dark blue shirt, but they did look nice.

"Dad," Stiles said, turning around when Scott nudged him. "I'm guessing you're wondering why some of us here look like we're about to be pimped out."

"Already got the memo that you're going clubbing," he said. "I just wanted to make sure you had a plan of action."

The guys all exchanged glances with each other. "Pick up hot chicks or dudes?" Jackson finally asked, shaking his head like it was obvious.

He didn't openly sigh, but it was a close thing. "That would be your goal. What I'm looking for is your plan to make sure you all return safely."

"We're pack," Boyd said after a moment. "We have a pretty good sense of each other, even for the humans."

"Even when your senses are overwhelmed by loud music and the scent of a few hundred people? You'd be able to know the instant that one of them was in trouble?" he asked. After some talking with a few different members of the pack he'd understood that while the werewolves in the pack were connected in a way that even they didn't understand, their connections to the humans were more limited and were influenced heavily by their senses.

The werewolves immediately looked to Stiles and Danny, Isaac actually baring his teeth for a brief moment even though his wolf fangs didn't come out. "Do you have a recommendation?" Boyd asked, his gaze intense when he looked away from the two male humans in the pack.

"In smaller groups I'd typically suggest the buddy system, but considering the unique abilities and limitations of the pack I recommend dividing into groups of three," he said, thinking back to the training he'd done in the city. "Each member of the trio is responsible for knowing where the other two in their group are. You can trade around groups as long as all of you are aware of the changes. At least one werewolf per group would be ideal. Don't accept drinks that aren't directly from the bar. No one leaves alone. Those last two are not debatable."

Danny's hand went to the back of his neck. "Yeah, sounds good."

He left the room as they started discussing how to split into groups and went upstairs. It was possible that he was being overprotective considering what the pack went up against on a semi-regular basis, but it had been less than a month since he'd worked an assault case at one of the smaller clubs. The victim had just turned sixteen and went to the same school as his son. Sometimes there was no such thing as overprotective.

"Jackson, if I have to tell you one more time that we're not ready yet, I won't even have to sic Derek on you because he'll be the least of your worries," Lydia called when he knocked on the pack bedroom door. 

"I just wanted to have a word with you before you went out tonight," he called back, a little bit amused when he heard a few high pitched yelps and the sound of bare feet thumping across the floor.

"Just a minute!" Allison yelled.

Two minutes later the door opened and he was somewhat relieved to discover that none of the girls' outfits were as ostentatious as Danny and Jackson's. Erica smiled brightly at him and spun, her skirt flaring out a little. "What do you think?"

"You all look very nice, though you might want to consider going without the guys after you see them," he joked, receiving giggles and knowing smirks in return. "I just wanted to talk to you three for a minute, I've already had the conversation with the others."

Lydia put her hands on her hips. "We know. Don't accept drinks from strangers and don't drink something that has left our sights. Keep an eye on each other and don't go with anyone outside. Know where the exits are and stay alert. Believe us, we know. Besides, we're not exactly the average helpless teenagers."

He nodded because there probably wasn't a high schooler who didn't know that little speech. "I'm glad that you know, that's good, and I know all of you know how to fight. Which is why I'm asking that you three watch over each other and the guys. They don't always pay as much attention as they should and they're more likely to dismiss signs of a threat."

The girls looked at each other as they considered that. Allison nodded. "That makes sense, I guess."

"Different socialization norms for girls and boys in our culture. Girls are more typically raised to be alert to dangerous situations because they're believed to be more vulnerable, yet they're rarely also taught to defend themselves," Lydia agreed, though Erica and Allison both gave her a sideways glance.

"Exactly," he said. "You all look beautiful. Have fun tonight. It's not so often you all go out, any specific occasion?"

Erica grinned. "My birthday was two days ago! Seventeen!"

"Happy belated birthday," he told her and then retreated from the room as the girls returned to the containers of makeup that were spread out on the desk.

He went down into the kitchen and dug out leftovers from veggie lasagna they'd had two nights ago, nearly dozing off as he leaned against the fridge while it warmed up in the microwave. Maybe he needed to catch a few hours sleep instead of that cup of coffee he'd planned on.

"Dad, we're going. We'll be home by midnight," Stiles said, poking his head in the kitchen and waving dramatically.

He smiled and nodded. "Call me if there are any problems."

Stiles grinned. "Since when have we ever caused any problems?" he asked, and then disappeared before his dad had the opportunity to start a list.

What Stiles didn't realize, he would guess, was that Stiles and the pack were very rarely the actual cause of the problems. More often, they were the solution.

*****

It was early in the afternoon when he arrived home, noting from the handful of cars parked in front of the house that most if not all the pack was probably there. The pack had been out most of the night, Stiles and Isaac only slipping in just after six in the morning to change and get ready for school. He'd texted with them throughout the night, once offering to come do what he could to help only to receive a short call from Stiles telling him to stay at the house and they'd come there if they needed to retreat. He wasn't sure how he felt about being told by his own son to stay away because it wasn't safe, which was entirely what Stiles meant even if it wasn't exactly what he had said, but seeing both Stiles and Isaac come home relatively unharmed had helped.

Stiles had called him shortly after school let out, asking if he and Derek could see the files from the latest double homicide which was still unsolved. He had agreed, on the condition that he could speak to Derek one on one. Stiles had started to protest but Derek had come on the line a moment later to say that they'd be at the house whenever he was available, Stiles still arguing in the background of the call when Derek had hung up. He had many reservations about passing along information to Derek from the Sheriff's Department, even more than he did about sharing the information with Stiles, but he had accepted that he could do very little about some of these cases without help from the supernatural side of the fence. Anyway, he'd wanted to have a talk with Derek for quite some time and he wasn't above using what leverage he had in order to make that happen.

The house was quiet when he stepped inside, far quieter than he would have expected for the number of people inside, and he went straight to the living room since that seemed to be the default gathering location for the pack when it wasn't a meal time. The entire pack was on the floor in a heap of bodies, blankets, and pillows. More than half of them were asleep though the eyes of most of the werewolves opened at his presence.

Lydia rested her head on Jackson's shoulder, Jackson's eyes blinking open as he wrapped his arm closer around Lydia's back. Danny was on Jackson's other side, his legs tangled with Jackson's and his head sharing a pillow with Erica. Erica was well and truly asleep with her back to Derek, curled up on her side with a wrist draped over her eyes. Derek was more awake than the rest of the pack, his eyes already fully open as he glanced back and forth at the bodies surrounding him. Boyd was next to Derek, his eyes also open, with Isaac using his hip as a pillow as Isaac was curled up in between Boyd and Derek's legs. Stiles was asleep with his back against Boyd's, his arm hooked over Scott's side. Scott and Allison were cuddled together, almost one form under a blanket as they slept without awareness of any of the rest of the pack waking.

Derek got up, moving carefully to avoid waking the rest of the pack and taking the extra time to untangle his legs from under Isaac. When he was standing, Derek leaned down and used Isaac's upper arms to drag him up into the space that had been left empty. Erica immediately rolled over and latched onto one of Isaac's arms with hers while Boyd turned so that he was providing a more obvious protection to the Betas Derek was leaving behind. Boyd's eyes didn't close even as Derek stepped out of the room entirely.

It was intriguing to watch the pack dynamics play out in front of him, though he could only guess about the meanings of what had happened. He had been told multiple times that Stiles was Derek's second with whatever responsibilities that entailed, and Stiles had once confided in him that if Derek should die it was most likely that Boyd would become the new Alpha of their pack and that Derek had been grooming Boyd for that eventuality. It wasn't until he had some time to really think about it that he realized that the pack was in worse shape than he'd thought if Derek was preparing one of the teenaged wolves to take over when he died protecting his pack.

He paused in the kitchen, regathering the thoughts he'd organized on the drive home, but looked up when Derek continued on toward the door that led out into the backyard.

"Werewolves have very good hearing when we choose to use it and most of us aren't above using our abilities to eavesdrop when we're curious," Derek said, and from the way he was looking toward the living room when he spoke it was clear he was addressing one or more of his pack. "Pretty much anywhere in the house and the immediate vicinity is like speaking in the same room for a werewolf."

"Alright then, I'll keep that in mind," he said, realizing that if he wanted to keep any of his work calls private he was going to have to go outside. He followed Derek out into the backyard, the January chill settling along the bare skin of his face and hands. "Is this really far enough?" he asked when they came to a stop near the fence that separated the yard from the woods.

Derek tipped his head. "They're mostly all asleep again and they know that I've asked them not to listen."

He gave a wry smile. "Not that it will stop them, if they're anything like Stiles."

"True enough," Derek admitted. "You brought the file."

He tightened his grip around the file folder in his hand, though he was keenly aware that wouldn't stop Derek from taking it if he truly wanted to do so. "Actually, I thought we could talk about a few things first."

If possible Derek managed to look more uncomfortable than he had just moments earlier. He looked out into the woods, his gaze scanning along the tree line like he was assessing it for the feasibility of escape. "Alright," he allowed, though his tone suggested that he'd rather be facing off against Hunters than having a civil conversation.

"First, when it's possible, can we try to cut back on the late nights for the pack? I know that most of the time it isn't, you do what you have to do. I probably get that better than most people would. But multiple all-nighters in a week is going to leave all of you more vulnerable, not even taking into consideration that your pack still attends high school," he said, not wanting to belabor the point, but just last Saturday he'd seen Stiles, Isaac, and Erica sleep fourteen hours straight and not for the first time either.

Derek nodded slowly, his eyes now focused at the half dead grass beneath his feet. "I'm aware. The circumstances are not what they should be."

He thought about that and figured that was probably the best he was going to get. He couldn't exactly tell Derek to let people die so that his pack could go home and sleep. "As I said, it's unavoidable in some situations, but we should try to keep that in mind."

"Anything else?" Derek asked, his eyes flickering to the file and then away as he shifted uncomfortably.

"Just one more thing. I understand that your living situation is currently in a location where a group of teenagers, super-powered or not, really shouldn't be seen frequenting. Secondary to that, it's not the type of place you should be associated with either, particularly not since people can't help but have noticed your return to Beacon Hills," he said, leaving out the more important factor that he didn't like the idea of Derek staying somewhere that dangerous and somewhere that only continued to facilitate his lack of commitment to living. "If it's a financial situation, I'm aware that your pack responsibilities limit your ability to work a nine to five job, but there are resources that we could use to at least get you set up in a small apartment."

Derek stared, really looking directly at him for the first time since the conversation had begun. "Money isn't an issue," he finally said, an odd, nearly amused expression appearing and disappearing nearly before it was there at all.

"Glad to hear it," he said, because that did make everything a lot more simple. "There are plenty of side streets in Beacon Hills that are near the woods and wouldn't notice werewolves running through the backyard. Anyway, it's something to consider." He held out the file folder now, having gotten about as far as he expected to in these particular conversations. He'd learned long ago with Stiles that sometimes if he planted the idea it would grow all on its own with just an occasional nudge from him.

Derek didn't move to take the file, instead thrusting his hand into his pocket and then shoving a piece of paper in his direction.

"What's this?" he asked, accepting the paper with his free hand and then staring in disbelief when he saw the amount written on the check addressed to him.

"For taking care of the pack when I can't," Derek said, his lips twisting with uncertainty before he covered the emotion with a tight frown. "I know how much it costs to house and feed teenagers and the money I have isn't much use to me and is more than I could need in a life time."

"I can't take this," he said, shaking his head and holding the check back out to Derek. "You do realize that I get a stipend from the state to cover the cost of fostering Isaac?"

"I know that you're also housing Erica and Lydia a fair amount of the time as well and that the stipend you receive isn't enough to feed one teenager on a regular basis, let alone nine," Derek said, taking the still proffered file and then stepping back so he couldn't be passed the check. "They're my pack and my responsibility. I need to take care of them."

He heard the genuine need in Derek's voice and came to the conclusion that this was something he could use to help all of the pack get on more stable ground, including Derek. "How about this, I'll set up an account for pack funds. We can decide who has authorization to get into it and both have the ability to deposit and withdraw funds as necessary when it comes to what the pack needs," he offered, hoping that what was best for the pack would outweigh whatever was going on in Derek's head.

Derek paused, his focus firmly on the cover of the file. "That's acceptable. Stiles should have access, as should Boyd. They know what they need to do. I'll have Stiles return the file to you tomorrow."

"Take as long as you need," he said, since it was copies of the documents and he'd blacked out information that would link the papers back to his department if they should be seen. "Whatever I can do to help."

Derek looked at him again, nodded cautiously, started to walk back to the house.

He pocketed the check and followed, thinking that Derek might be starting to believe that his offer to help the pack however he could was genuine. Derek stopped in the living room for about five minutes, his conversation brief, and then he was gone through whatever quiet exit he'd found.

In the living room the pack was still a pile of sleeping teenagers tangled together and he watched them for a moment before going back in the kitchen to leave out instructions for ordering take-out for dinner, betting none of them would want to cook when they finally woke. He left through the front door, deciding that he would stop on the bank on his way back to work to set up that account so it would be ready the next time Derek stopped by the house.

*****

With his latest major case finally wrapped up, Derek and the pack having done more than their share of the work in exposing the human side of the operation while taking out the supernatural elements, for once he was home before any of the kids. He started dinner, two large casserole dishes filled with meat loaf, and took advantage of his hour of down time to sit in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and simply try not to think about anything at all. Of course that didn't work, not entirely, so instead he flipped through the classified section of the newspaper and marked some of the houses for sale or apartments for rent that were in the safer areas of Beacon Hills but still bordered on the woods that surrounded the town. If he left the paper out on the table he knew that it would get to Derek, even though he wasn't sure who the go-between was yet.

The front door opened and from the number of footsteps he heard in the hall and the voices babbling over each other it sounded like he had a full house for the evening. Less than a minute later Erica bounded into the kitchen with a paper in one hand and a big grin on her face, the rest of the pack following her into the room at a much more sedate pace.

"First semester report cards were handed out today," she said as she waved the paper in the air before handing it over to him. She laced her hands behind her back and gave an impatient bounce. "See, look. So much better than last year when I missing class all the time from being sick."

He looked down her first semester grades and was pleased to see that even in her English class, the class for which she sat at the kitchen table and struggled through her homework sometimes long after the other kids had gone to bed, she had done well. Her lowest grade was a B- and he smiled as he reached to give her report card back. "Very nice, Erica."

Erica didn't take the report card back immediately and instead ducked her head and wound her fingers in her hair. "On tv and in books, sometimes report cards get put on the fridge if they were good?"

He didn't have to ask to know it was a request and was probably something her own parents had never done. It had been a few years since Stiles had let him put a report card up on the fridge, but he stood and found a magnet to place it under, right on the front door. Erica smiled brightly, her cheeks flushing slightly, and he knew he'd made the right call.

"Stiles," he called, waggling his fingers in Stiles direction.

Stiles rolled his eyes but dug in his backpack until he found a crumpled piece of paper and handed it over.

"Anything you want to tell me before I open this?" he asked with his eyebrows raised.

"Only that Mrs. Cantor really doesn't like me so much and that you shouldn't let her opinion of me sway your opinion of me," Stiles said, meeting his gaze for a moment before looking away to the ceiling.

"Uh huh," he said and unfolded the paper. Report cards were never as bad as Stiles made them out to be, though more than a few times a teacher had taken issue with Stiles' more gregarious nature. Given that Stiles' report card was mostly A's, with nothing lower than a B, along with a comment about the number of tardies Stiles had a accumulated, he just nodded. "Good work. Keep it up," he said and put up Stiles' report card right next to Erica's, knowing that Stiles wouldn't fuss when it would possibly embarrass Erica. "Next?"

Lydia stepped forward and held out her report card with a flourish.

His eyebrows rose, though he wasn't sure what he'd really expected from Lydia. He'd known that she was smarter than she tried to let on, much smarter, but receiving straight A's while taking honors and Advanced Placement classes while being heavily involved with the pack was impressive. "Excellent," he told her. "Do you want yours on the fridge?"

Her expression flickered briefly but she nodded. "Yes. At least here people will actually look at it."

He placed it next to Erica's and looked around the room, not entirely certain how he'd wound up substitute parenting for seven more kids than he'd bargained for, but he found that it felt rather nice. "Who's next?"

Danny and Jackson both handed over report cards, Jackson's with straight A's and a class load as rigorous as Lydia's and Danny's not far behind, but they both kept their report cards to bring home to their parents.

Allison handed hers over with a little bit of a shrug and a frown. "Not my best," she said, her eyes glossy for a moment with unshed tears before she composed herself.

He looked it over, seeing more B's than A's along with a single C+, but not a terrible report card overall. "Maybe not your best, but not bad either," he told her before handing it back so she could take it home to her father.

Boyd stepped forward to hand his over next, offering it without a word or any indication what he thought of his grades.

He unfolded it and while he was impressed he wasn't entirely surprised. Boyd may have been quiet, one of the quietest in the pack, but when he spoke he always had something important to say. Boyd's report card was almost straight A's, with a B+ from the same teacher who had given Stiles a B. "Very good. Do I get to put this with the others or are you taking it with you?"

Boyd shifted on his feet but then smiled shyly. "On the fridge, please."

He placed Boyd's beneath Lydia's and then glanced over the group to see who he was missing. "Scott, you're up," he called, noticing how Scott was half-hiding behind Allison.

Scott sighed but stepped forward, digging into his pockets and then handing over a roughly folded piece of paper. "It's better than last year," he said.

"Dude, you almost failed out last year," Stiles pointed out.

"Thanks for the reminder," Scott said dryly and hunched his shoulders.

He looked over Scott's report card, most of the grades hovering in the low B and high C range, though his A in PhysEd gave his grade point average a much needed boost. "I know you can do better than this, keep trying," he said, folding up the paper and handing it back to Scott. "That goes to your mom."

"Yes sir," Scott said, hanging his head a little and stepping back to let Allison put her arms around his shoulders.

The last report card he was missing was of the second kid in the room for whom he was actually legally responsible. "Isaac?" he called, looking over the group more closely until he finally spotted Isaac at the back, his head ducked down so he was nearly out of sight behind Boyd and Danny. Both stepped aside, leaving a clear path to where Isaac was standing.

"I, uh," Isaac stopped and licked his lips. "I forgot mine in my locker after lacrosse practice."

He only had a chance to raise a single eyebrow in disbelief at the particularly poor excuse when Stiles stepped forward with another piece of paper.

"Yeah, I saw that it _dropped_ out of your backpack on _accident_ while we were in the locker room and grabbed it for you," Stiles said. "Hope you don't mind."

He sparred a glance for Isaac, unable to miss the way Isaac's eyes were wide but unfocused and his arms were folded tight against his chest. He had a brief moment of worry that Isaac was failing, though the school should have called him by now if that was the case, but most of his worries were alleviated when he opened the paper. Isaac's grades were about evenly split between A's and B's, except for the C- in physics. Before he had a chance to tell Isaac that it wasn't so bad, Stiles had dashed across the small space in the kitchen to place his hands on Isaac's shoulders.

Isaac was now pressed rigidly against the wall, his eyes still wide with panic but now glowing orange. His claws were extended, digging into the plaster of the wall, and his whole body was trembling.

If Isaac had been human his first instinct would have been to move closer and talk him down from what looked like either a panic attack or a dissociative episode, but he stayed where he was while Lydia, Danny, and Allison all slowly edged toward away from where the wolves were forming a loose protective circle around Isaac.

"It's okay, it's all fine, nothing bad is happening here," Stiles said, his voice pitched soothing rather than the commanding tone he had used when Jackson had started to shift in the living room a few months ago. "Just take a breath."

Erica broke from her spot and slowly walked up to the pair, pulling her hair back to reveal her neck to Stiles before she stepped up to Isaac's side and pressed her face against his shoulder. One of her hands slipped down so that she was covering Isaac's left hand and she started to talk, her voice too muffled against Isaac for the words to be understood, at least by the humans.

Isaac seemed to slowly come back to himself, his eyes refocusing on his surroundings. He closed his eyes and when he reopened them thirty seconds later they were once more closer to the color of a stormy ocean than that of the setting sun.

"Sorry, man," Stiles said. "I should have given it back to you before we came home."

Isaac shook his head, though his now clawless hand was intertwined tightly with Erica's. "Sorry," he said, his eyes skimming over everyone until he found his foster father. "Sorry."

"That's alright," he said, keeping his voice calm. Isaac had avoided being left alone with him over the past months, but he'd been getting better at addressing him directly when there were fewer of the pack around. From that reaction he could only guess at how Isaac's father must have reacted to grades that weren't up to his standards. "Your grades are fine, though if you need help with anything it's okay to ask." He walked over to the fridge and put Isaac's report card right next to Boyd's, just to prove his point.

"I think I smell dinner?" Lydia asked, her voice a little strangled and her smile clearly forced.

He nodded gratefully at Lydia. "Should be just about ready. Why don't all of you go get cleaned up, I'll see you back here in ten minutes for meat loaf."

The room cleared remarkably fast, though Isaac hung back for a long moment, his gaze traveling down to the eight small holes where his claws had punctured the wall.

"It's okay, don't worry about it," he told Isaac when Isaac didn't leave after another moment. "Walls can be fixed. Not a big deal."

Isaac gave him a look he couldn't even begin to decipher and then fled from the room, disappearing between one moment and the next.

He pulled out the meat loaves out of the oven and took off his oven mitts before he ran his hand over the back of his neck and wondered if he maybe should have told Isaac that if he wanted to talk he could come to him. He honestly didn't think that it would help, but he hadn't the slightest idea of what he could do that _would_ help. Isaac was supposed to be seeing the school counselor on a regular basis, but from what she'd said at parent-teacher conferences Isaac never showed up and wouldn't even acknowledge to her that he'd had an appointment. At this point he wasn't even sure it was a good idea for Isaac to become emotionally distraught around someone who wasn't a werewolf. He'd considered going to Derek for suggestions, but he honestly thought that Derek needed some counseling himself rather than attempting to counsel teenaged werewolves.

That line of thought was temporarily put aside as he heard the pack returning down the stairs and he gave directions for people to set the table as they trailed in. When Isaac actually showed up for dinner, albeit being tugged along by Erica, he hoped that things weren't as bad as they had seemed for a moment there. That was proved wrong nearly instantly when Isaac barely touched what Stiles put on his plate and then slipped away that night with a text message to let him know that he was out running in the woods with Derek.

The next morning when he got up, he checked in the pack bedroom and then Stiles' bedroom in hopes that Isaac had returned late in the night, but found Boyd and Lydia in the pack bedroom and Erica curled up with Stiles. He went downstairs, his body demanding coffee before he could even begin to think, but he stopped in his tracks as soon as he let the fridge door swing shut. The paint on the wall Isaac had clawed was shiny and damp, and if he bent down he could barely see the places where the holes had been filled in with plaster before it had been repainted. Apparently Isaac had been home in the night and now he was left wondering if his reassurance to Isaac that walls could be fixed had been taken as an instruction. He wondered if using Stiles as a go-between to tell Isaac that he needn't have fixed the wall, much less in the middle of the night, would be a particularly bad thing to do in this instance, because he was rapidly running out of ideas on how to approach Isaac at all.

*****

He woke slowly, the protest in his back and neck letting him know that he had fallen asleep still sitting up somewhere and he was strangely warm like someone had surrounded him with blankets. As he opened his eyes he managed to focus on the flickering light of the tv, still some sports commentary show that had probably started after the game though the sound was nearly completely muted. He supposed that falling asleep in front of the tv was better than falling asleep in his office and he started to shift slightly before he realized why exactly he was so warm.

Derek had taken Stiles, Scott, and Boyd with him on a short road trip to a neutral location in LA for a territory renegotiation, promising that they would be back before Sunday night. Apparently there were two other packs in towns that bordered Beacon Hills and both packs had been testing the boundaries of the Hale pack's territory now that Derek was an established Alpha with a small pack. It had led to more than one scrimmage and Derek had appealed to the Alpha in LA for assistance in redrawing territory lines so that everyone was satisfied - apparently the LA Alpha had agreed if only because werewolf wars were bad for werewolves and humans alike. Derek had grudgingly explained that he was willing to sacrifice some of the land that had been in the Hale pack for generations if it would keep the pack safe. The territory wasn't worth losing lives over.

He had offered to go with Derek, not overly keen on sending Stiles away to the city for a weekend, but had been refused since the numbers that each pack would send were established in tradition. The Alpha, the Alpha's second, and two enforcers were all that would be permitted of Derek's pack in the city while negotiations took place, and apparently he had enough associations with the pack to count under those rules. Isaac, Erica, and even Jackson had stayed close at hand all Friday evening and during the day on Saturday, and he'd invited Melissa over for dinner that night since she was undoubtably as worried about Scott as he was about Stiles. The dinner had actually been nice, quieter and smaller than he was getting used to without most of the pack there, but there was still the undeniable sense that it fit together somehow. Melissa had left after dessert and he had gone into the living room to catch the football game on his night off, though he didn't even remember reaching halftime before he must have fallen asleep.

And now he had woken to find himself surrounded by the remaining werewolves. Erica was the closest, leaning against his left side with her knees bunched up against the back of the couch. Her head was resting on his shoulder and upper arm with her long hair spilling down his chest, and every so often she shook her head slightly as she pressed her face against his arm. At his left knee he had Jackson sitting on a cushion on the floor with his head rolled to the side against the couch. Jackson's arm was wrapped tightly around his shin and he felt a little bit like he was being used as a security blanket. He could just see that Jackson's eyes were closed and that he was sleeping soundly. Isaac was curled up on the floor next to his right foot, Isaac's hand stretched out so that it was resting right next to his ankle but not quite touching. Isaac had his face tucked down almost under his own shoulder but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

It had been a long time since he'd had anyone fall asleep on him and a longer time still since he'd felt quite so _needed_ as he did in that moment. His intention had been to help the pack survive, do what he could to keep them safe and alive, and to keep Stiles out of danger the best he knew how. At the beginning, when it had been Stiles and Scott sheepishly telling him about how they'd had to help kill Peter Hale before he killed all of them, and then meeting the ragtag group that made up the pack, he had never imagined that he'd come to being an emotional support to young werewolves and actually find that he liked it. That it completed something within him and that it was something he had needed as well without realizing it. Or maybe he had known - though not about the werewolves - but he'd known what drove him and had ignored that in favor of guarding what he had already lost.

Erica moved against him, arching her back sleepily and then leaning in against him so that he was now supporting part of her weight against his chest. She opened her eyes and blinked up at him, continuing to nuzzle the side of her face against his chest even when she saw that he was awake. "Your scent is like Stiles," she said, her words half mumbled into his chest.

"Oh?" he asked, not quite sure what to make of that. He knew that the werewolves had strong associations with scent, particularly with each other, and he supposed that it made a certain amount of sense that he would smell like Stiles.

"Like pack," Erica clarified. "It's okay that we're here, right? Derek says we shouldn't impose our 'touchy-feely stuff' on you. But Derek isn't here, and Stiles isn't here, and even Boyd's gone. You're kind of like them though, especially like Stiles. Fearless like Stiles, steady like Boyd, and strong like Derek."

"I'm not sure I'm fearless," he admitted, though he could see why she could see that in Stiles. Stiles hid some of his fear under banter and babbling, the rest he wore like a badge, and he so rarely let his fear stop him from doing anything.

Erica opened her eyes again and tipped her head up to look at him. "Fearless doesn't always mean not being afraid, not really. Anyway, if you don't mind us here, tell Isaac to come up to the couch. He's going to be irritable tomorrow if he sleeps like that," she said, twisting around briefly to peer down at Isaac before she resettled herself and closed her eyes.

He leaned slightly to the side and noticed that Isaac's eyes were now open though he was barely awake by his unseeing stare. "Do you want to come up here?" he asked Isaac, sparing a glance for where Jackson was still sleeping undisturbed by his conversation with Erica.

Isaac pushed himself up to his elbows and looked around the room like he was searching for something that was lurking in the shadows. He finished his search and then looked up at the couch, his gaze questioning as he nodded.

"Come on then," he said, patting the space next to him.

Isaac slunk up like a dog that wasn't sure he was really allowed on the couch but moments later he had curled up and his eyes had closed again. Isaac's breathing was too rapid for him to truly be falling back to sleep.

He reached out and rested his hand on Isaac's shoulder, waiting as Isaac's breathing slowed back to normal and then slowly drifted back into the regular rhythm of sleep. Very slowly he stretched his now free right leg and settled in for sleeping in this position on the couch for at least a little while longer. It was a comfort to have all three of them right there and know that they weren't out for this one night being terrorized by Hunters or enemy werewolves or whatever else was out in the dark waiting for them to misstep. Derek had promised him that territory negotiations wouldn't turn violent and they would all return safely, but there was also a reason he'd referred to Scott and Boyd as his enforcers for that particular excursion. All he could do for the moment though was keep the pack safe and together in Derek and Stiles' absence.

*****

The noise level didn't drop when he stepped into the kitchen and if it wasn't for the way Derek looked up from the conversation he was having with Stiles and Boyd he would think that his presence had gone entirely unnoticed. Lydia and Isaac were at the counter next to the stove, Isaac dicing pears under Lydia's direction while she quartered strawberries. Isaac's wrinkled his nose at the strawberries, making a quiet comment about the smell, and Lydia only rolled her eyes in response and moved her cutting board to the counter space across the way. Jackson and Danny were near the fridge arranging drinks for everyone, not having to ask what other members of the pack wanted as they darted back and forth to the table. Their conversation was nearly overpowering the others in the room as they bickered about whatever had happened at lacrosse practice that afternoon. Scott interceded on Danny's behalf after a moment, finishing placing the last of the plates on the table and shaking his head in apology to Jackson as he defended Danny. Erica and Allison were gathered in quiet conversation at the sink as they washed the dishes that had been used in preparation of the meal, Erica flicking water at Isaac when he slipped between them to place his cutting board in the sink and rinse his hands under the water.

"Dad!" Stiles called, grinning and waving from across the kitchen. "I think we're about five minutes to ready. You're staying, right?"

"I am," he said, though he had to go back to the department for a few hours after dinner. He had his cellphone on in his pocket and he had told the deputy in command to call him if he was needed, but he hoped that he'd at least be able to stay through the meal. If nothing else it smelled fantastic and having the pack around had certainly increased the variety of meals he ate.

He wound his way through the crowded kitchen, stopping at the oven to take a peek at what was inside and getting shooed away by Lydia. He bumped into Scott, Scott's hands wrapped around a mass of silverware and Scott only grinned and handed him the forks. "Thanks, Scott," he said, getting a cheeky "you're welcome, Mr. Stilinksi," in response.

He helped Scott finish setting the table and was immediately handed a strawberry lemonade by Danny who was ferrying the last of the drinks to the table. A glance around the kitchen told him that dinner was well in hand and he sat down at his usual place at the table and watched as Lydia directed pack members over with bowls of fruit salad, two pans of cornbread, and Derek came last carrying a large chicken pot pie. The ongoing conversations continued over the meal, everyone serving themselves and reaching across each other in what should have led to a mess but was somehow coordinated. Raising Stiles had accustomed him the constant movement of bodies - Stiles would rarely stay in one place for a whole meal and it seemed most of the pack shared his predilection for activity. Seats were exchanged, pack members shared their plates almost interchangeably, and he found himself drawn into conversations ranging from the last lacrosse game to what was he'd heard about the activity in the woods lately, to whether he preferred cornbread with whole kernels of corn or not.

By the end of the meal he'd talked with almost every member of the pack - Stiles and Derek being the exceptions - and he noticed that they had touched him similar to the way they reached for Stiles and Derek. Even Isaac had sat next to him for a few minutes, asking him what he knew about the history of Beacon Hills High School because they thought the school might possibly be haunted. At the end of the conversation, though before he could get more information about why they thought the school was haunted, he'd felt Isaac nudge his foot under the table before darting back to an open place at the table between Stiles and Erica.

He leaned back in his chair, his stomach full and his plate empty, and watched the pack with a sense of contentment settling over him. This wasn't ever what he'd envisioned a family looking like, not his or anyone else's, but it was undeniable that it worked. Stiles was smiling and laughing more than he'd seen from him in years, some of the loss that had clung to him now buried under the way he took care of his pack mates and let them care for him in turn. There were no empty chairs at the table and he found himself thinking about how proud his wife would be to see them all now. The silent and broken places had haunted his house for far too long. While he would always see the afterimage of his wife when he looked in every room, now he felt that she would be more content when she saw that they were really living again. It wasn't moving on, he decided as he looked over the family that Stiles had surrounded himself by - the family his son had the strength to share with him - but it was rebuilding.

"Someone who didn't spent an hour in the kitchen prepping the meal gets to clean up," Lydia announced, her feet propped up on Danny's lap and her head resting on Jackson's shoulder.

"Boyd, Scott, Derek, that means you," Stiles announced as he got to his feet and collected Lydia's plate along with his own and Danny's.

He stood, picking up his own empty plate and the empty fruit salad bowls. One unfortunate thing about pack meals was that there were very rarely any leftovers. In the kitchen proper he started to load the dishwasher, sending Stiles, Scott, and Boyd back to the table for the rest of the plates and glasses while Derek set the pans and the large casserole dish in the sink to soak.

"Something's changed," Derek said, turning off the water and then looking around like he might find the source in the kitchen.

"What type of something?" he asked cautiously. When one of the werewolves said something ominous like that he always second guessed his decision to disarm himself when he was at home.

Derek looked directly at him and then tipped his head, his nostrils flaring briefly. "You. Your scent has changed since the last time I saw you. You're pack."

"Me?" he asked. He didn't know how he could have possibly have become pack sometime over the last three days. He hadn't done anything special at all that he could remember; he'd cooked mini-pizzas with Stiles, Erica, and Isaac, he'd listened to numerous complaints about teachers and homework, he'd caught the tail end of _The Matrix_ when half the pack had stayed up late on Saturday night to marathon the movie trilogy, and in the morning he'd gone into bedrooms to pick up blankets that had been kicked off in the middle of the night. All of that and more had defined his home life for the past three months.

"That's good," Derek said and nodded once. "That helps, actually."

"Alright," he said, because he supposed that if his son was a member of the wolf pack it wasn't such a bad thing for him to join too. He looked down when he felt Derek touch his forearm and then reached over to squeeze Derek's shoulder in return. He was pack - apparently - and he wondered why that didn't really feel strange to him.

"See, I told you he smelled different," Erica said as she led the way through the kitchen, Isaac's hand captive in hers.

Isaac rolled his eyes but offered a brief smile in his direction.

Erica ignored Isaac entirely and came up to give him a one-armed hug before bounding out into the hallway with Isaac trailing after her.

When he looked back at Derek he saw that Derek was trying to suppress a smile and wasn't quite succeeding.

"I'm afraid you'll have to get used to that, and the touching thing. It's their wolves, they want to be close to the pack," Derek said, his tone of voice not quite apologetic. "I'll remind them to leave you out of the sleeping piles because otherwise you'll find them creeping up on you while you're asleep."

He shrugged, not wanting to tell Derek that it was too late for that and he'd woken more than once in the living room to find one or more of the werewolves sitting close and watching him intently. "I think I'll be okay," he said.

Stiles came flailing into the kitchen a moment later and gave him a firm thump on the back. "Jackson and Boyd said that Derek made it official. Welcome aboard, dad! Hey, Derek, I'm your second, so does that mean I technically outrank my dad?"

"Not a chance," he said before Derek could answer. He pulled his son into a brief hug and then gave him a gentle push back towards the dining room. "Go get the rest of the plates from the table." As soon as Stiles was gone he shot Derek a look of concern. "Stiles doesn't actually outrank me, does he?"

Derek finished drying his hands on the dishtowel. "Technically he does, but the only time it would come into play is in combat circumstances, which shouldn't happen. Even though you're pack I'm asking you to stay out the conflicts as much as possible. You're more useful to the pack in your position as the Sheriff of Beacon Hills."

He nodded as Stiles and Scott returned with the rest of the dirty dishes. "You hear that Stiles, not a chance."

Stiles shared a grin with Scott. "Got it, dad. I'll only give you orders when we're getting shot at or chased by werewolves," Stiles said and then ducked his head at the look he was receiving, "and maybe not even then."

He shook his head and backed away to let the boys get at the dishwasher.

"There is pie in the fridge for dessert," Allison said as she came into the kitchen with Jackson at her heels.

He smiled and checked the time - he had enough time for a slice of pie before he had to go back out. The whole werewolf pack thing may just wind up being one of the best things that ever happened to him, and his stomach was wholeheartedly in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this installment!  
> I have two more stories for this series in the works (possibly with more to come after that), though it most likely won't be until the end of September until I start posting for this series again. I'm working on three Avengers Big Bangs that I need to finish up, and then I'll be straight back to work on this.  
> I hope you've all enjoyed the pack and Stilinski love! Thank you for reading and for all your lovely comments thus far!


End file.
